


First Patrol

by afinepricklypear



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Child Death, Dark Past, Eventual Romance, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Past Child Abuse, Substance Abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Substance Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinepricklypear/pseuds/afinepricklypear
Summary: While war rages around and inside of Jimmy, somewhere between himself and Ben he finds a strange peace.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on Fanfiction.net under the pseudonym sugarcandyaddiction. I'll be reposting it here with edits.

The first night Jimmy and Ben were assigned together on patrol had been little more than a partnering of convenience and circumstance. Before that night, Jimmy usually did rounds with an older ginger-haired boy named Franklin. They'd partnered together a number of times since 2nd Massachusetts had set out and got along alright together.

Despite proving himself capable time and again, other scouts refused to work alongside the formerly-harnessed Ben. There was too much lingering mistrust and too great a reminder of current events. Ben's father, Professor Mason, climbing into a space craft with one of the alien scourges didn't exactly help his floundering image. Bad for morale, Captain Weaver explained away his tolerance of the fighters' behaviors and as reasoning for keeping Ben, for the most part, on the sidelines.

Jimmy had always been close to Ben's family. Professor Mason empathized with Jimmy's situation, but didn't coddle the orphaned teenage boy as most of the other adults tended to do. At least, the ones that weren't behind Jimmy’s back secretly wishing the 2nd Mass would leave him behind. They saw him as nothing more than a burden on the group to care for and a useless mouth to feed.

Admittedly, Jimmy didn't trust Ben when the other boy was freshly un-harnessed. At times, Jimmy could be crueller than any of the other children, perhaps, because of his close relations with the rest of the Mason family. Part of him felt threatened by the return of the middle Mason son, having been for a time Ben's de facto replacement. However, another part of him felt obligated to befriend Ben and his hate of that obligation caused him to rebel viciously against it. Didn't he have enough responsibilities on his shoulders to carry without adding a forced friendship with the weird freaky kid?

Almost like a comical joke played by the cosmos, Ben seemed intent on befriending Jimmy. In those first several days after the harness came off, as he learned to live life again as an independent human with a free will and full-use of his faculties, Ben followed Jimmy around camp like a lost puppy dog. It came to a point where Jimmy felt like a cornered rabbit. He pushed the envelope of his cruelty towards the other boy, causing a rift between himself and the Mason family, and took to hiding in store rooms and loose air vents in the school building the convoy had set up camp at when he wasn't actively serving the 2nd Mass.

And then the incident in the mountains happened. The 2nd Mass children were sent away to an alleged haven that turned out to be a trap laid by traitorous humans dealing with the Skitters. Ben played a pivotal role in helping them all escape, and Jimmy was forced to reconsider his conflicted feelings towards Ben. He made attempt to treat the other boy more fairly, after all, he owed a lot to the Mason family and it wasn't as though it were Ben's fault the alien invaders had taken him hostage and turned him into a weird freaky kid. Jimmy was far from wanting to be best friends but he became the only child in the 2nd Mass that was not an immediate member of Ben's family to tolerate Ben's presence.

So when Franklin fell ill, Weaver seized the opportunity to stick Jimmy with Ben.

The partnership got off to a rocky start. They argued the first fifteen minutes of their patrol about which route to take.

“We should head up north first, follow the creek around the perimeter, then take the interstate back to camp. It's more efficient, we can cover more ground in less time,” Ben hissed. He'd been repeating the same plan most of the argument as though restating his idea somehow made it more appealing, “You know I'm right, you just don't want to admit it.”

Someone seriously needs to teach this kid better persuasion techniques, Jimmy thought

“Most of that trek is over rough terrain,” Jimmy shot back, “And there's no coverage along the interstate! Me and Frankie have been working the same route the past week. It's solid and there's no reason to change it up now. This is just a one-night thing anyhow, tomorrow Frankie will be feeling better and we'll go back to patrolling together again. You don't have to put so much effort into it.”

That seemed to end the argument for Ben. While Jimmy didn't understand the other boy's sudden loss of interest in arguing his cause, Jimmy didn't really press the matter. He was glad to have won and to finally be getting on with the night's patrol.

For the most part, they spent that first patrol in silence. It wasn't until a few hours in that the silence ended with another argument about when and where to take a break and eat the stale saltine crackers and Slim Jims they'd been given for the walk.

“Do we really need to stop now?” Ben demanded, “Can't you keep going for just a few more hours? Then our shift will end and you can just eat back at camp.”

The desperation to press on glimmering in Ben's wide wild-looking eyes frightened Jimmy in some ways. Yet in other, very strange ways, it excited Jimmy.

Professor Mason and Hal, the eldest Mason boy, had never talked much about Ben before recovering him from the Skitters. It was as though, to them, speaking about their missing family member was paramount to condemning him to a fate worse than death. But the youngest Mason boy, Matt, had spoken about Ben often and when Jimmy had had the time and patience, he would sit and listen to the small boy's reverent ramblings of his lost elder sibling.

The Ben that Matt had painted with words, of a shy bookworm, looked nothing like the Ben that stood before Jimmy, with arms folded across his chest and hard, intense eyes staring in an almost threatening way. Predatory, came to mind. Ben Mason was a predator. And the way he looked at Jimmy, sometimes, it felt as though he were assessing his prey.

Ben was the hunter and Jimmy his hunted. 

The idea flitted into Jimmy's mind that first patrol, almost in the way a scrap of paper flits in the wind, only to solidify into something hard and permanent, taking root and growing, branches stretching upwards and outwards. Try as he might he couldn't shake it free.

“Maybe you can keep going without rest but some of us are only human,” Jimmy scoffed, again causing Ben to abruptly lose interest in the argument.

They found an inlet with a rock overhang to settle in and eat. Jimmy sat on the damp ground and ripped open his Slim Jim. Ben leaned against the back of their little inlet, resting his rifle across his lap and closed his eyes. For several minutes they sat like that. Jimmy ignored Ben, eyes wandering out at their forested surroundings. He kept one ear alert to Ben, aware of every shuffle and shift of the other boy's body.

“Hal spoke about you a lot,” Ben finally interrupted the quiet.

Jimmy took a sip from his canteen of fresh river water and remained silent.

“When I first came to, after they took off the harness,” Ben went on, “He was catching me up on things, I guess.”

Jimmy made a noise in his throat. Ben moved the rifle up to lean across his chest and against his shoulder, its barrel pointing upwards.

“He kept telling me stories about things you had done, things you and he had done.”

If things had been awkward before than this was just downright disturbing. Jimmy took another bite of his Slim Jim and tried to remain apathetic to the conversation, despite the terrible stone-cold feeling settling against his chest. 

So Jimmy had looked up to Hal for a time, thought of him like an older brother, tagged along a lot. 

So Hal had been looking for someone about Jimmy's age to replace a gaping hole in his life where Ben was meant to be.

So Jimmy had been looking for someone, anyone, to fill the gaping hole in his life where his family used to be. 

So they had needed each other and things had worked out. 

At least, worked out until Ben came back and Hal didn't need Jimmy as his adoptive brother anymore. Jimmy understood, sort of, that a substitute loses purpose when the real thing returns. He was fine with making himself scarce. 

It all figured itself out, right? Jimmy had backed down and Ben had retaken his rightful place as the second eldest Mason son. No muss, no fuss. So where the hell was Ben going with this, exactly?

“I was jealous, you know,” Ben continued and Jimmy smirked sardonically to himself. Of course, that's where this was going, “I kept thinking, what do I care about this Jimmy kid. It was supposed to be me doing all those things with Hal, but I was too busy serving some alien overlords, right?”

“I'm not going to say 'sorry', if that's what you want,” Jimmy muttered. He tilted his head to one side so he could watch Ben without actually looking interested in the other boy's actions.

“I don't. You know. Because after a while I realized what Hal was really trying to say. What he was trying to tell me. He was saying, this Jimmy is a good kid. He wanted us to be friends,” Ben explained. 

Jimmy said nothing. He shifted uncomfortably, took another bite of his Slim Jim to give him something to do with his mouth. Ben sighed and shook his head, as though silently laughing at a joke no one told.

“Somehow...that made it easier for me to listen to the stories. And you know, as he told me more and more about you, you know what I realized?”

Ben opened his eyes and locked them on to Jimmy's own iridescent blue orbs.

“I like you, Jimmy,” he admitted, firm and unwavering. 

The confession sent a shiver up Jimmy's spine and caused his heart to crash at breakneck speed against his chest. He didn't know exactly how to respond, so he didn't, remaining stoic, his expression apathetic. Ben lowered his eyes and looked away, as if suddenly bashful.

“I guess that sounds weird,” Ben mumbled.

“Yeah. It does,” Jimmy snapped, turning his attention back to the forest to hide the color suddenly spreading through his face.

“When Hal talked about you, you just sounded like someone I could have been friends with. You know. Before,” Ben explained. His voice was a lot softer now, uncertain. He sounded afraid, as though he'd crossed some invisible line and was just waiting for the horrible repercussions.

Before.

Jimmy weighed the word in his mind. It used to be a simple word and now it carried a deep, multifaceted meaning for humanity's last survivors. 

Sometimes Jimmy couldn't remember before. Before he had killed another living being. Before he'd picked up a gun and felt its heaviness in his hand, and the kick of its recoil. Before the 2nd Mass had claimed him amongst their ranks. Before he'd spent months as a frightened child searching for signs of life amongst a wrecked city. Before he'd left home one morning, said the last words he would ever say to his family again, and the sky came crashing down to Earth.

Before.

“We should get going,” Jimmy said in a voice that sounded cracked and strained even to himself. His mouth was dry and his eyes slightly damp around the edges.

They didn't talk the rest of the way back to camp.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a full two weeks before Jimmy was forced to spend any amount of time around Ben again after that first patrol. Frankie had recovered and returned to patrolling with Jimmy and, for the most part, things returned to normal. 

The 2nd Mass had moved to a new location over the course of the past few days, their third after leaving the school behind. They had taken refuge in an abandoned woodland resort, taking shelter in a cluster of cabins which had not too long ago been used to rent out to eager tourists looking to escape the city. 

There was a town near their base camp. Weaver asked for a volunteer scout party to head out and search the convenience stores for any supplies that may have escaped the attentions of looters. Without hesitance Jimmy offered up his services. He wasn't surprised to learn that Hal was leading the party but he was extremely annoyed to see Ben would be coming along. 

Dai was there as well. He would be driving the red Chevrolet pick-up, their transport on the ‘shopping’ trip. A frizzy haired, middle-aged woman named Jamie and a gangly, pimple-faced teenaged boy named Ulrich were also part of the group. 

Hal rode his bike, shooting ahead every so often to keep a watch on where they were headed, no surprises. Ulrich followed several yards behind on a bike of his own, guarding their rear. Jamie sat in the truck carriage with Dai. 

Jimmy and Ben sat alone together in the truck bed.

They maintained a distance from one another. Ben sat near the front of the truck, leaning back against the carriage and watching the side of the road roll by. Jimmy pushed himself into the corner of the back of the truck bed, his knees pulled up, balancing his rifle across them. He watched Ben from the corner of his eye. Wind whipped around them, threatening to drown out any conversation. Not that either boy was really interested in chatting. 

At least, Jimmy wasn't, and he was certain from Ben's expression that the other boy felt the same.

It was a quiet midday. A hazy overcast blanketed the town and every so often bits of rain would drizzle down, causing a chill despite the summer heat. Ben seemed somber. His eyes bore down the horizon, gazing at something in the distance that only he could see. His hard-cut jaw clenched and unclenched, a small muscle in his cheek twitching with the tension. From the angle he sat the metal rods that ran the length of his spine, protruding inelegantly out of his skin as the only remaining physical evidence he was ever harnessed, could not be seen. Rifle aside, in his faded gray t-shirt and weather worn blue jeans, chestnut hair tousling in the wind, he looked like any other average teenaged boy.

In the stark light of an instant, a burst of sunlight through the graying clouds, Jimmy flashed on his last conversation with Ben. 

You just sounded like someone I could have been friends with. You know, before.

A strange ache yawned in Jimmy's chest. For whatever reason unexplainable, perhaps just born of a simple curiosity, he suddenly wished he'd known Ben before. 

'He had to wear reading glasses and he hated them. He thought they made him look like a dork', Matt once told Jimmy in a quiet evening when Professor Mason and Hal were out on a mission. Jimmy had volunteered to entertain the youngest Mason so as to give his babysitter, Dr. Anne Glass, a short break. Conspiratorially, Matt had whispered, 'They did. Hal used to make fun of him for them all the time. Ben liked to play chess, too. He was really good. He could almost beat dad, too. Well...he could beat dad, if he wanted to. He told me he always let dad win. Isn't that silly?”

Jimmy tried to imagine the Ben sitting across from him wearing glasses and playing chess. The AK-47 draped across his chest wasn't giving the partially conjured image any credence. Jimmy tried to picture Hal teasing Ben, calling him such menial insults as ‘dork’ or ‘nerd’, but, strangely, all Jimmy could hear was his own sister's soft, sweet voice as she sung her 'ABCs' and him shouting at her to 'shut-the-hell-up'. He tried to think of Ben and Professor Mason playing a game of chess and what would possess a boy to let his father win but all Jimmy could think was that the last thing his own father had said to him, yelled at him, was to take out the garbage and that he never did.

“Hey Jimmy, you okay?”

Jimmy blinked back to reality. The truck had stopped. Dai and Jamie were climbing out of the carriage to go meet with Hal and Ulrich. Ben leaned over Jimmy, propping himself up with the top edge of the tailgate, concern etched in his features.

“Yeah. Why?” Jimmy shot back, more sharply than he'd intended. He suddenly felt aware of every part, every limb, every follicle, right down to every blood cell of his own body.

Ben winced, darted his eyes away, and pulled back slightly from the other boy.

“I...it's just...you're crying, is all,” he pointed out, his voice so low Jimmy barely heard him.

Jimmy automatically reached a hand up to touch his face. It was true. His cheeks were damp with a few stray tears. He scowled and pushed himself to his feet, shoving Ben aside in the process.

“I'm not crying,” he snapped, and pathetically explained, “It was just...the wind...is all. Could you not stand so close to me? It creeps me out.”

Jimmy jumped from the truck bed, leaving a painfully silent Ben staring stunned after him. He ignored the questioning looks from Hal and the others in the group as he approached.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy pressed himself as far into the closet as he could. It didn't leave much room for Ben but it was a small space and there wasn't much that could be done about it. Ben pulled the shutter door closed, his body rigid and far too warm squashed against Jimmy's own.

“Could you just...will...you...” Jimmy grumbled.

“Shit...oh...sorry...ow,” Ben murmured. 

Ben had stepped on Jimmy's foot, and Jimmy had managed to smack Ben in the eye before they were able to fix themselves standing chest to chest, trying to make the most of the millimeters between them. Jimmy's expression was a dark, irritated glower. Ben's was an apprehensive apology. The stench of blood wafting around them was strong and nauseating.

“This is all your fault,” Jimmy leveled accusation, harsh and low.

“My fault?” Ben replied, brows jumping so high they nearly hit his hairline.

“You're the one that wanted to come in to this fucking house in the first place,” Jimmy hissed; days, weeks, months of pent up anger and frustration towards the other boy finally boiling over.

“I...you....” Ben stammered, his mouth opening and closing again in a comical impression of a goldfish. Finally his eyes narrowed and he seethed, “Well you're the one who left you're fucking gun in the kitchen.”

It was Jimmy's turn to be the fish. He balled his hands into fists and bit back, “You're the one that emptied your entire magazine into one fucking Skitter.”

“I only had half a fucking mag and you know it!”

“That doesn't excuse a bad fucking shot!”

Ben grabbed Jimmy's shoulders, pushing him with a hard THUNK against the wall at the back of the closet.

“What the hell...?” Jimmy started protest but Ben quieted him quickly, slapping a hard, calloused hand over Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy's brow furrowed in confusion. Ben cocked his head to one side, his expression distant. He was clearly straining to hear something.

“Skitter,” he mouthed. He raised a finger to indicate one. That meant the other two were probably still downstairs.

For the next few seconds, the boys remained silent, simply listening for any noises. Jimmy couldn't breathe; his heart had frozen in his chest. The stench of sweat, dirt, and blood, the mingling scent of him and Ben, was causing his head to swim. Ben hadn't removed his hand from Jimmy's mouth, his other still sat on Jimmy's shoulder, holding him firm against the wall. His entire front body was flush with Jimmy. 

It was a strange feeling. Never had Jimmy's entire body been so fully in contact with another person's. He knew it should feel uncomfortable, awkward even, but it didn't. Oddly enough, despite the boys' predicament, Jimmy felt…safe. 

And then Jimmy heard it; the dreadfully familiar sound of multiple shuffling legs entering the bedroom where the boys had hidden. Jimmy closed his eyes, relaxing under the weight of Ben, breathing in the other boy as if to remind himself that at the very least he was not alone. They were completely unarmed. If the Skitter found them, they would have no chance in the world. They would be dead. Or worse, they would be taken and harnessed.

It wasn't fair. Ben had only just gotten the harness taken off.

Jimmy's brow furrowed. He squirmed in Ben's grasp. It wasn’t right, he knew, to be concerned first for the other boy. Someone he didn't really like and didn't fully trust. 

But he liked the Mason family, Jimmy reminded himself, and they had only just recently gotten Ben back. If Ben were re-harnessed, it would break their hearts.

Unless, of course, Jimmy could stop it. 

Jimmy pursed his lips, absently placing a hand on Ben's arm, as a plan formed in his mind. If it came to it, he could sacrifice himself for the other boy. Throw himself at the Skitter, give Ben an opportunity to escape. He would fight to the end, of course. Jimmy would rather die than ever be harnessed and used against his own people. He just hoped Ben would catch on and run for it.

The hand at Jimmy's mouth slipped away. He immediately missed the touch, then quickly shook that inexplicable emotion away.

“It's gone,” Ben whispered, his hot breath warm against Jimmy's cheek. Jimmy opened his eyes and met Ben's.

“We should probably wait a few more minutes to be sure,” Jimmy whispered back, “Then we could probably climb out of the window and rendezvous with the others.”

Ben nodded. He had turned his head to one side to listen for the Skitter. His hands had repositioned to hold Jimmy firmly in place, resting on either side of the other boy's arms, long fingers wrapped around slender biceps clothed in long, dark blue sleeves. Jimmy took a few seconds to catch his breath and get his bearings straight.

“You know, I'm not going anywhere,” he finally said. 

Ben looked at him, question shimmering in soft hazel eyes. Jimmy looked pointedly at the hands gripping him tight. He quirked a brow at the other boy.

“Oh,” Ben pulled his hands back, “I'm sorry, I just-”

“Forget it,” Jimmy cut in. He shifted his weight, leaning as far away from Ben as he could manage in such a small space. It was far too hot in there.

Ben looked dejected. He dropped his hands to his sides and turned his attentions back to the rest of the house, listening for their opportunity. The Skitters weren’t going to leave, not if they thought the boys were still there.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jimmy questioned. 

Ben glanced at him, and dropped his gaze to the tear down the length of his arm. Blood had soaked the side of his shirt, dripped to the floor, and was now starting to form a small pool at their feet.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “You?”

Jimmy could feel rather than see the lump forming at the top of his forehead. He gingerly traced it with a finger and winced when he applied a small bit of pressure.

“I think I'll live,” he joked. 

Ben smirked, “Couldn't be too sure. After all, you are only human.”

The boys locked eyes. 

A thousand and one responses, each more wittier, more sarcastic than the last, crashed into Jimmy's mind and not a single one could make it through his tightly clenched throat.

And there was that look. Hunter. Hunted. Jimmy's heart like a rabbit's. Ben's leer like a wolf's.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. 

The boys startled, wild eyes darting around through the dark, all senses on full alert. The sound of gunfire lasted only a few moments, but it echoed in the boys' ears for quite a time after.

“Ben? Jimmy?” Hal's voice shouted downstairs, pitched and panicky.

Ben opened the closet door and both boys tumbled out. It felt twenty degrees cooler in the bedroom.

“We're up here,” Ben called down. He held his bloody arm to himself now, attempting to squeeze the wound shut. Jimmy snatched an old button-down shirt from the closet, it smelled of dust and mothballs. He brought it over to Ben.

“Here, use this,” he said. He wrapped the shirt around Ben's arm and held it to the other boy, applying a firm pressure.

“Thanks,” Ben mumbled.

“About what I said...about this being your fault...” Jimmy started, his eyes studying the floor, avoiding the other boy's intense gaze.

“It was my fault,” Ben admitted.

“Yeah,” Jimmy conceded, “But no one else needs to know that.” He met Ben's eyes, hands still holding the make-shift bandage in place, “It was my idea to come into the house. Okay?”

“Why...?” Ben began, his face scrunching in confusion.

“It's nice for them,” Jimmy mumbled, dropping his eyes and letting go of the bandage. He took a step away from Ben just as Hal rushed into the bedroom, “To have you back.”


	4. Chapter 4

If Captain Weaver was surprised when Jimmy volunteered himself to go with Ben on patrol, the old man did a fantastic job hiding it. He did, however, have a few concerns that he didn't bother to hide in the slightest.

“I'm not sure about sending you out, Jimmy, not after what happened on that scouting party in town a few days back.”

“It was a lapse in judgment, sir, it won't happen again. I promise,” Jimmy pleaded.

Captain Weaver looked Jimmy over, assessing, examining, considering. Jimmy had spent enough time with the captain to know the older man's expressions. He liked to joke that he could read the captain's mind, but really, he just understood him. They were a lot alike. So Jimmy knew the captain already had a 'no' prepped on his tongue, and Jimmy also knew he needed to switch his approach if he ever wanted to see action as a fighter again.

“I know that Ben has a lot of skills that would be useful to the 2nd Mass,” Jimmy said.

Captain Weaver rolled his head to the side and looped his thumbs through his trouser belt hooks. I'm listening, his expression said.

“Whatever the Skitters did to Ben, well it made him something else...something more than human,” Jimmy continued, “We need him out there. He can hear a Skitter coming from miles away, same with mechs. Problem is, no one trusts him, and he can't exactly be out there by himself, and you can't have Hal with him all the time because you need Hal doing other things.”

Captain Weaver set his jaw. His lips pressed together and his eyes looking off into the distance. He agreed with Jimmy, at least to that point.

“If you send me out with Ben, we can use his skills. I can watch his back, and you can tell anyone who's worried about it that I'm out there watching Ben to make sure he doesn't do anything weird,” Jimmy said, rambling the last part off quickly. He braced himself for Captain Weaver's response.

A long period of silence passed. Captain Weaver readjusted his hat. Then he nodded.

“Fine. You boys can start patrol tonight. Take the nine to three shift,” Captain Weaver said.

A broad grin broke across Jimmy's face, but he hastily wiped it away and gave a short salute before rushing from the Captain's office. 

Outside, through the crowd of people busily seeing to various tasks that kept the 2nd Mass community running, Jimmy caught sight of Ben amongst a cluster of other children with the youngest Mason brother, Matt. If Jimmy were standing beside the children he probably wouldn't have noticed, but at such a far distance he could see the wide berth the other children gave Ben. Avoiding him as though he carried a viciously contagious disease.

Jimmy frowned, straightening his field vest. He caught sight of Franklin amongst a group of other older teens. Franklin waved him over, and Jimmy walked a few paces towards the group. Franklin sucked a long drag from a cigarette and offered it up. Jimmy accepted, took a hit that burned nicely all the way down his throat and into his chest. He handed it back.

“What'd the old man say? We on patrol tonight?” Franklin asked. 

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably and shook his head, studying the moss-covered ground. It was a brilliant shade of green, a kind of color he never imagined could occur in nature. The entire forest was blanketed with the stuff. He thought of his dad suddenly. His dad always used to promise to take him camping, “we'll go this weekend, son”, he'd say, only to cancel last minute for some work-related reason or another. Now, here Jimmy was camping with complete strangers and his father was dead. The universe really did have a sick sense of humor.

“Uh...no...it looks like the captain wants me on patrol with Ben,” Jimmy said. It was only a half-lie.

“The freak razorback? That's shit,” Franklin replied, “Tough luck, Jimmy.”

The others voiced their sympathies. Jimmy nodded and murmured incomprehensible words that sounded agreeable. He excused himself and hurried away.

Jimmy shared a cabin with a widowed woman and her three younger children. She was out washing laundry with some of the other women and the children were out playing at the moment, so it was one of those rare days when Jimmy had the cabin to himself. He entered amiably and lay on the bunk he shared with the woman's eldest son, a five-year-old named Tyler. 

Tyler talked in his sleep. Jimmy thought it was sweet. That the boy could sleep, that is. The talking thing kind of bothered Jimmy. Tyler didn't always say pleasant things.

Jimmy was the only true orphan in the 2nd Mass, the only one younger than eighteen without a family, and that hadn’t been harnessed. In the world of Skitters, children didn't last long on their own, either killed by scavenging adults or taken by Skitters. Yet somehow, Jimmy had survived and continued to survive. He was the exception to a rule no one wanted to admit existed.

Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to invite slumber in. He needed to rest if he would be out patrolling until three in the morning. He wouldn't be able to sleep, not truly. No one really did those days, especially not the fighters. Though it wasn't really so much out of a desire to stay alert, but a desperation to keep the night terrors away.

For Jimmy, the night terrors could be worse because when he awoke in a cold sweat, crying out in fear, there was no one to go to, and no one that would come to comfort him.

Tyler had awoke the other night in a fright, screaming frantically. His mother had been at his side in an instant. She'd gathered him in her arms, rocking him back and forth and humming a made-up lullaby. Jimmy had lay as still as possible, holding his breath, and keeping his eyes tightly closed, listening to her ministrations, and relishing in the maternity falling off her in droves.

When Tyler had finally fallen asleep once more, his mother remained another several minutes stroking the boy's back, then she tiptoed out to the room she shared with her other two children. Alone in the dark, Jimmy had to bite on his fist to hold in the sobs as tears streamed steady down his cheeks.

Jimmy rubbed his palm over his face, mussing his hair. He folded his arms over his chest, settling into the mattress, digging his muddy heels into the end of the bed. He always slept in his boots, fully clothed, so he could jump up and run in a pinch, if need be.

The trick, Jimmy had found, was to not sleep long or deep enough to dream. He wondered if Ben had bad dreams, frowned at the thought, then exasperatedly gave in, humoring his wayward mind with the reasoning, “of course he has bad dreams, he was harnessed by the Skitters for how many months.” If anything could give a person nightmares it had to be that.

Jimmy checked his watch. Still only five. He decided he would tell Ben about their patrol in a couple hours. That would give the other boy enough time to prepare.

“I can't believe I'm actually nervous about this. What is wrong with me?” Jimmy muttered, laying an arm across his face. He could have asked that question a million times for a million different reasons over the past few days.

What was wrong with him that he had practically begged Weaver to put him on patrol with Ben?

What was wrong with him that his thoughts were constantly finding their way back to Ben no matter how desperately he tried to alter their direction?

What was wrong with him that he was watching Ben every opportunity he had, searching him out in the crowded camp almost instinctively?

What was wrong with him that their roles had so drastically changed in the span of a short few days, that now he was the lost puppy dog following Ben around?

And what was wrong with him that he couldn't get the words Ben had spoken to him on that first patrol out of his head, that they just kept replaying over and over again, a CD track on repeat: I like you, Jimmy.


	5. Chapter 5

Jimmy and Ben's second time patrolling together should have gone smoother but the awkward tension between them was too thick to ignore. It put them both on edge, so much so that any word out of one boy's mouth would instantly set the other off -- a nuclear explosion that caught them in a fiery ball of rage and when the mushroom cloud had cleared, leaving nothing standing in its wake.

After three full-blown arguments, and a handful of short quarrels between, Jimmy finally threw his hands up.

“Fine. Why don't you just go off and patrol however the hell you want and I'll go patrol however the hell I want and we'll just meet back at camp,” he roared.

“Fine,” Ben spat back.

“Fine,” Jimmy shot in return. They spun on heel in separate directions and fumed off into the woods.

Jimmy had walked for nearly twenty minutes, arms wrapped tightly around himself, sniffling every now and then as the chill of the nighttime forest was making his nose run. He lied to himself that it was also the cold causing tears to cascade down his face, dribbling pathetically off his chin, before he realized Ben was following him. He kept walking with that knowledge for several more minutes, letting the tears stop and the anger to well in the bottom of his gut again. 

It seemed the only way Jimmy could confront the other boy was with rage, so he gathered up all the reasons he hated Ben, ticking them off in his head starting with that damned harness and ending with that cocky smirk he sometimes wore when the 2nd Mass kids played a game of soccer and he'd scored a goal.

Jimmy stopped dead in his tracks, studying the ground, kicking over dead leaves with his boot toe, and waiting for the other boy to approach.

“What are we doing, Jimmy?” Ben questioned, a few erratic heartbeats later. 

“I'm patrolling,” Jimmy bit out tersely, “I don't know or care what you're doing but if you're looking for something then you can start by fucking off and leaving me alone.”

In the distance, a bird – probably an owl – shrieked into the wind. It sounded reminisce of a woman screaming or a small child. A shiver ran the length of Jimmy's spine and he shuddered involuntarily.

“You know what I mean,” Ben insisted.

Jimmy tilted his head to look at Ben. He was sitting at the base of a large oak tree, his back with the horror-show spikes leaned against its trunk. He had his knees propped up, his rifle in his lap, his forearms balanced on either knee. He stared down at Jimmy through half-lidded eyes, his mouth forming a straight line. They were the same age, but in that moment, Ben looked so much older than Jimmy, who was whimpering like a petulant child. Jimmy resented it.

“Go. To. Hell,” Jimmy seethed. He turned his glare back to the ground and blinked away newly forming tears. “Or go back to the Skitters. I don't care which.”

Ben snorted softly.

“Why don't you make me?” he muttered.

If prompted, Jimmy couldn't have explained how the next few things happened. In the span of time it takes a sparrow's wings to flap in flight, Jimmy had bridged the distance between himself and Ben, and connected a fist to the other boy's jaw. 

Ben was on his feet. He tossed his rifle aside and tackled Jimmy low, grabbing him round the waist and knocking him back. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of wildly flailing arms and legs, and twisted around in the moss and mud, attempting desperately to injure the other but probably injuring themselves more in the process.

Finally, Ben proved the victor, pinning Jimmy's arms to his sides and sitting atop, straddling the other boy's lower half. A bruise was already forming on Ben's jaw and the laceration on his arm from that Skitter encounter a few days back had apparently tore open afresh, blood soaking through the sleeve of his light blue sweater. Jimmy's bottom lip was cut, blood filling his mouth and his wrist felt like it may have been sprained either in the scuffle or the initial fall to the ground.

“Why did you have to say it?” Jimmy demanded, his words muffled by barely contained sobs and his own blood. 

It took Ben aback and he relaxed his grip slightly, his face washed blank.

“Why did you have to say that you liked me?” Jimmy moaned, “I don't even like me.”

His ice blue eyes cut into Ben, dark thoughts swirling behind their glassy, pristine surfaces, dark thoughts that no thirteen-year-old boy should ever have but often do.

Ben sat back on his haunches, releasing Jimmy's arms altogether. Jimmy had succumbed to his emotions, a rush of river after the dam has broken. He buried his face in his palm, a futile attempt to hide his sorrow-ravaged face. Beneath Ben's comforting weight, Jimmy's body shook violently with harrowing sobs. 

After a few seconds ticked by, an eternity of Jimmy balling uncontrollably, Ben leaned forward and placed his hand on Jimmy's forehead, gently pushing the other boy's hair away from his face the way a mother might, except Ben's hand was rough and covered in grime and somewhat clumsy. It was clear he wasn't accustomed to consoling another person.

Ben sighed and softly, imploringly, asked, “What happened to you, Jimmy?”

Jimmy shook his head reply. There were some crimes he'd never confess to committing. Sins he would rather take to the grave. His sobs were fading now, his breathing was heavy and, for the first time in a long while, he felt like he could sleep for a hundred years, with Ben's hand light on his forehead and the weight of Ben's body atop Jimmy's own.

Ben stopped stroking Jimmy's hair back, instead, just letting his hand rest, lost, against Jimmy's temple. In that moment, Jimmy found himself curious about Ben's expression. What kind of look was he wearing on his face? Jimmy imagined it was something exasperated, maybe weary. Jimmy, ever the burden, was weighing on that already overloaded boy's shoulders. It hurt him to think that that was what he had become to Ben, another burden for him to bear.

“You can get off me any day now,” Jimmy croaked out, too tired to even attempt sounding annoyed. 

Regrettably, Ben's hand pulled away from Jimmy's forehead as he stammered a meek somewhat apology, “Right. Yeah. Sure. I didn't mean to...”

Seriously, Jimmy thought bemusedly, I threw the first punch.

That’s when they heard it, the mechanical siren call of doom. They froze. Jimmy propped up on his elbows, and Ben straightened. Their wide eyes, like deer in headlights, both turned the direction of that all too familiar, fatalistic bellow.

“Mech,” Jimmy breathed.

Ben was on his feet in a flash, pulling Jimmy up off the ground by his collar.

“We have to get back to camp,” Ben rattled off, rushing to grab his rifle, “Warn them...”

“Or,” Jimmy interjected, knocking the mud from his clothes. 

Ben faltered in his retreat, turning a quizzical look back to the other boy. Jimmy motioned to his pack where he’d dropped it on the ground beside his rifle before their fight.

“Or we could blow the bastard up.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jimmy and Ben shimmied along the ground on their bellies through the underbrush. Ben lead the way. They came to a stop when they were close enough to have a visual on the giant, bipedal robot that had come to play a major role in both boys' recent nightmares. It was accompanied by a Skitter, scampering at its feet.

“Dai always sneaks me a couple explosives when I head out on patrol,” Jimmy whispered explanation, pulling the aforementioned bundles of C4 from his pack as he spoke, “Weaver would have a conniption if he found out, but Dai says you should always be fully prepared for battle, whether you plan to go into it or not.”

“Dai's a smart man,” Ben acknowledged. Jimmy nodded agreement. 

“Mech's always travel with at least two Skitters,” Jimmy continued in a low voice. He pointed to the one with their targeted mech, “That's one.”

“So where's the other...” Ben mused. He listened intently a moment, putting a finger to his lips as a warning to Jimmy to remain silent. He pointed through the thicket, “About half a klick that way.”

“We should take out the mech first,” Jimmy said, “Then the Skitters should be easy pickings.”

Ben smirked, tapping a finger to a faded purplish blob on Jimmy's forehead. The lump had all but disappeared but the bruising still remained, a colorful reminder of their closet adventure.

“Yeah. Easy,” Ben teased. Jimmy flushed, rolling his eyes and shrugging.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to,” he grumbled.

“No. I want to,” Ben stated firmly, “I really want to.”

Jimmy looked at Ben, interested by the determination in his words. The way Ben's eyes were lit with anticipation licked like fire through Jimmy's veins. Again, the comparison of Ben to a hunter fluttered unbidden into Jimmy's mind, except now Jimmy didn't feel as though the hunted and the impression was less exciting and a lot more frightening. Ben was dangerous.

The plan was simple.

Ben climbed a tree along the mech's path with the explosive and dropped it on the tin-can at the appropriate moment. Jimmy, perched in the bushes nearby, sniped the Skitter with a head shot. The second Skitter would hear the commotion, come to investigate, and Ben would see its approach from the tree and take it out with his own rifle.

Executing the plan wasn't quite so simple. 

The explosive took out the mech without a hitch, but a piece of shrapnel nearly took off Ben's head and the force of the explosion about blew him from the tree. Jimmy wasn't as crack a shot as he needed to be, and the Skitter managed to ascend the tree and almost get hold of Ben before Jimmy managed to put a bullet into its head.

In all the commotion the second Skitter had sprinted towards its fallen comrades and, catching the boys by surprise, sprung from the thicket and grabbed hold of Jimmy, throwing him out of sight and quickly following. Ben jumped from his perch in the tree and raced after, Jimmy's cries of pain and the sounds of struggle, his only guide through the night. By the time Ben found the Skitter, Jimmy had fallen silent and was still out of sight. Ben took the Skitter out with a single shot to the back of its head. He rushed forward to search for the other boy.

“Jimmy,” he shouted, “Jimmy, where are you?”

Jimmy stirred from darkness, his eyes peeling open but his vision only greeted by more darkness, the sound of Ben's frantic shouts echoing in his ringing ears. He couldn't move, a dead weight lay across his body and an awful stench invaded his lungs. Bile rose to the back of his throat and threatened to spew out.

“I'm here,” Jimmy gasped; afraid at first that Ben hadn't heard him and that he wouldn't be able to reply any louder. 

The weight, which turned out to be the Skitter, shifted from off Jimmy and he was able to untangle himself from the body and gracelessly climb to his feet.

Ben stared wild-eyed at Jimmy, brow furrowed, mouth parted. He held the side of his head with one hand, his rifle with the other.

“Shit,” Ben breathed.

“Is it dead?” Jimmy questioned, kicking the Skitter and gagging, fighting to hold in the contents of his stomach. He could bathe for years and never get the stench of dead Skitter on him out.

“Yeah. Yeah. They're all dead. Shit. I thought you were dead,” Ben stammered. He took a step towards the other boy. Hesitated a moment, took another step forward.

“I thought I was dead,” Jimmy admitted. His words sounded calmer than their meaning would suggest he should be.

Ben took another step forward and tentatively lay his hand on Jimmy's shoulders, as if confirming the other boy were real. He gave Jimmy a gentle shake. A beautiful broad grin broke out across Ben's face, the after-adrenaline rush euphoria now commandeering his senses. The realization of what they'd done and that they'd actually survived it skyrocketing him on an endless natural high.

“Shit, Jimmy, I could kiss you right now,” he laughed.

Jimmy smirked bitterly at the dead Skitter. His mood more somber than ecstatically maudlin at that moment. They had done it. They had killed a mech and two Skitters by themselves. Just the two of them. The implications of their victory made him feel slightly sick to the stomach and Ben's words barely registered.

“Yeah. You could,” Jimmy absently conceded.

Ben's laughter trailed off and the smile faded entirely from his face. He lowered his chin and peered up at Jimmy sheepishly through lashes. It took Jimmy a few seconds to process the conversation. His cheeks blossomed red before he could stop the apparent reaction. He shouldered his rifle, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, and strode rigidly past the other boy.

“We should head back to camp,” Jimmy declared.

“We can't,” Ben murmured, running a hand over the back of his neck. 

Jimmy spun round to glare at him, alarmed, “Why not?”

Ben pointed to the watch on his wrist.

“We still have an hour of patrol left. We head back now it'll look suspicious,” Ben explained.

“Oh,” Jimmy ran his hand over his face, feeling foolish, “Right.”

“Let's go find somewhere to rest. Clean off,” Ben suggested, “There's a river nearby. You're covered in Skitter goo.”

“Kind of your fault, man,” Jimmy replied, falling in step behind Ben as the other boy led the way through the forest towards the promised river.

“Why is it everything is always my fault?” Ben shot back.

“Hey, you're the one that blew out the Skitter's brains all over me,” Jimmy replied.

Ben stopped abruptly and spun round causing Jimmy to nearly run head first into him. They were far too close, only an inch or so between them. Self-consciously, Jimmy took a step back but almost instinctively, Ben closed the gap again.

“And you're the one who suggested we blow the mech up in the first place,” Ben calmly noted.

Jimmy swallowed hard. Their close proximity seemed to cause an almost unbearable heat. He glued his gaze to a spot on Ben's shirt. Which had a few splatters of blood, he noticed. His eyes trailed up, following the crimson trickle to its source. The side of Ben's head was gashed open. Jimm'ys eyes widened, his jaw dropped.

“Doesn't that hurt?” he demanded, pointedly staring at the gaping wound.

Ben startled, and touched a hand to his injury. He grimaced.

“Oh. Yeah,” he mumbled, “I guess it does.”

Jimmy grabbed Ben's arm and steered him towards the forest once more.

“Where's that river?” Jimmy demanded, striding hastily forward as he spoke, “We need to get your head cleaned up. I've got bandages in my pack, not a lot but...”

“Uh...Jimmy, you really don't know where the river is, do you?” Ben cut in and Jimmy paused, looking dumbly out at the walls of trees around them. He'd been through the area surrounding camp numerous times already, he'd visited the river Ben mentioned several times, but he still didn't quite have a lay of the land.

“No. Not a clue,” he murmured, flustering. He was glad of the night, so that Ben couldn't see how red his face had grown. 

Ben burst into laughter. He slung an arm around Jimmy's shoulders and spun them more to the right, guiding the other boy, while still leaning his body casually against him. In that moment, Jimmy didn't know what made his head feel lighter, the exhaustion from their recent bout or the feel of Ben alongside him.


	7. Chapter 7

“We fell,” Jimmy said.

“A lot,” Ben added.

“Down a cliff,” Jimmy elucidated.

“A large cliff,” Ben, again, added.

Captain Weaver glanced between the two boys, each sporting several injuries. Included amongst them was a split lip, a black eye, and a poorly bandaged head wound. Weaver’s eyes were narrowed to such thin slits that the pupils were barely visible between the lids. The corner of his mouth twitched every so often, either from annoyance, anger, or a combination of both. He stared for a very long time. Assessing the boys. They remained unmoved, standing at attention, eyes locked forward on their captain.

Finally, what seemed an eternity later, an eternity that Jimmy spent holding his breath and desperately fighting the urge to glance at Ben, Captain Weaver sighed and shook his head in resignation.

“Just...watch where you boys are walking next time, alright? We got enough to worry about with the aliens without you two trying to do the job of killing yourselves for them,” he said. He waved them from the office.

As soon as they were outside, Ben gave a whoop of excitement.

“I can't believe we got away with that,” he exclaimed. 

Jimmy waved his hands frantically to quiet Ben and shook his head angrily, glancing around and behind them.

“Will you shut up?” he hissed. 

Ben looked around confused. Jimmy folded his arms over his chest; relaxing only once he was satisfied Ben hadn't been overheard, at least, not by anyone too curious about their conversation. They walked side-by-side out into the campground. A few people were bustling about around them, mostly fighters who had been up all night anyway. Most of the civilians were just beginning to wake up. The kitchen staff was preparing breakfast, the scent of oatmeal wafting from the mess tent.

“You don't lie much, do you?” Jimmy scoffed.

“For your information,” Ben said matter-of-factly, “I lied a lot growing up. I lied to my parents all the time.”

Jimmy stared at Ben skeptically, one brow carefully arched.

“Uh-huh,” he droned sarcastically, “And how often did you get caught?”

Ben squirmed slightly under Jimmy's scrutinizing glare. He sought to focus his attentions elsewhere.

“Is that really important?” Ben stammered, fidgeting with his head dressing, “We didn't get caught this time. That's what matters, right?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and announced, “I'm getting breakfast.”

“Yeah. I'm starved. Who would've thought patrolling would work up such an appetite,” Ben declared, none too subtle about the euphemism intended behind 'patrolling'. He stretched languidly and walked alongside Jimmy towards the mess tent. 

While standing in line for their oatmeal, Ben casually questioned, “So what are you doing later today?”

Jimmy looked at Ben with reproach. They seemed to both flash on the same thought, I could kiss you, and their cheeks blistered red. Suddenly they found the insides of their empty bowls very interesting.

“Well...what I meant was...” Ben stammered, turning the bowl over in his hands nervously as he spoke, “I mean...what I'm saying – asking – is...”

“Shut up,” Jimmy snapped, clenching his jaw and holding his bowl out for the woman manning the big pot of oatmeal to ladle some in to, “Forget about it.”

“Right. Sorry,” Ben muttered, “I was just thinking we could go out – hang out – and uh...practice our shooting a bit. We're both pretty shit shots, you know?”

Jimmy eyed the woman behind the oatmeal pot a moment, surveying her for any piqued interest in Ben's odd suggestion. She didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, so Jimmy took his bowl and headed for the utensil table to grab a spoon. Ben hurried after him with his own bowl of oatmeal.

“What do you want?” Jimmy demanded in a low hiss, growing increasingly annoyed. It seemed they were back to Ben being the puppy dog again, and, Jesus Christ, if he wasn't obnoxiously good at it. 

“It's just...you didn't answer me?” Ben sheepishly explained. Those big, brown, over eager eyes certainly didn't help dispel the puppy dog image.

Jimmy spotted Franklin across the mess hall with his group of older teens. They were eying Jimmy and Ben's interaction with dark, suspicious looks. Jimmy chewed his inner cheek and took a calming breath.

“Fine,” he gritted out between tightly clenched teeth, “At thirteen hundred we'll meet in the woods. Far into the woods...out near that old ranger outpost, and we’ll practice there.”

Ben looked at Jimmy quizzically, “Why so far...?”

“We don't want people suspicious about our sudden need to be better shots, do we?” Jimmy explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh yeah. Right,” Ben agreed. He smiled at Jimmy expectantly. Jimmy glared at him in irritation. A few seconds ticked by.

“Now...go away,” Jimmy peevishly instructed Ben.

Ben's face fell.

“Right,” he murmured.

Jimmy watched the other boy retreat a moment before turning to join Franklin and his group, the only other fighters in the tent at that hour.

“Hey guys,” Jimmy greeted nonchalant and most everyone returned the pleasantries. Everyone, except Franklin. Franklin seemed more interested in Ben, who was across the mess tent taking a seat at an empty table to eat his oatmeal alone.

“What'd the Razorback want?” Franklin asked in a low growl. Jimmy flinched involuntarily, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

“Oh...uh...nothing,” Jimmy stammered response, “Just...” he shrugged, stirring his oatmeal with his spoon, “Patrol stuff.”

“Right. Patrol stuff,” Franklin repeated. He turned his penetrating gaze on Jimmy, “You need to watch yourself around that Razorback, Jimmy. There's no telling what those Skitters did to the freak.”

The other teens voiced their agreement. Jimmy spooned some oatmeal into his mouth and nodded absently. 

“You know, I heard, I heard, well, they're saying he's more, more, Skitter than human, now. Like a fucking alien, you know? He's like, like, uh, part alien, I guess. You know.” One of the other boys, Leo, commented.

“Those barbs in their backs, all those kids, they freak me out,” one of the girls, Teresa, added, “I caught sight of his...when we were still at the school, not long after the surgeries...” she shuddered, “I still have nightmares about it.”

Franklin took a seat next to Jimmy and leaned back against the table. He smacked Jimmy's shoulder gently to get his attention.

“Just keep an eye on him, okay?” Franklin insisted, “Don't let your guard down.”

“I won't,” Jimmy promised, feeling somewhat awkward and uncertain. 

Their words were hammering away in his skull: more Skitter than human, barbs in their back, Razorbacks, watch your back. 

Then somewhere in the farthest corner of his mind, Ben's voice chipped away: ...someone I could have been friends with.

Jimmy swallowed his mouthful of oatmeal down and pushed the rest of the bowl away.

“I got to go,” he quietly excused himself, not feeling hungry anymore.

Without another word, Jimmy bolted from the table and out the mess tent. He could feel all their eyes watching him leave in such a dramatic hurry. He could feel Ben's eyes watching him.


	8. Chapter 8

The fifth aluminum can target fell to the ground with a Ch-Ting, a bullet hole ripped through it dead center. Jimmy set the safety back in place on the Glock and lowered the weapon. From his seat on an upturned crate nearby, Ben gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“You are really not a shit shot,” Ben noted. 

Jimmy scowled, walking the few paces towards the other boy and handing him off the gun.

“It doesn't really count on the range,” Jimmy said darkly, “If you're a shit shot in the heat of battle, where it does count, then you're a shit shot,” he picked up the bottle of coke they'd snuck from the food stores and took a swig, “I am definitely a shit shot.”

Then he plopped down on the crate beside Ben, their shoulders flush.

“And you're not,” Jimmy concluded.

“I am so...” Ben began protest.

“You took down that Skitter with one shot,” Jimmy argued, “It took me four rounds to put down my Skitter and it took me forever to get them off.”

Ben rolled his eyes. He relieved Jimmy of the coke and took a short gulp.

“I'm just...I freeze,” Jimmy went on to say. He leaned forward on his knees and cupped his chin in his palm, glaring at the cans lined up on the ground, neatly riddled with near identical bullet holes. “I don't know why, but I can't do it.”

“No. I understand. I totally get that. It's not easy when all hell has broken loose around you and your adrenaline is pumping and everyone is depending on you to get that one bullet into the Skitter's head,” Ben argued, “I have the same problem.”

Jimmy snorted softly. Agree to disagree.

“No, really. When I went out with Hal a few times, when I was first learning...I would just seize up. I couldn’t even fire one bullet,” Ben continued, “Really pissed Hal off.” He shook his head at the memory then peeked at Jimmy, still sulkily staring at the dead cans. Ben sighed. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, that was only the second Skitter I've ever killed.”

Jimmy blinked once. Twice. He turned his face to stare blankly at Ben. 

“Really,” he deadpanned, “Those are your words of encouragement. 'It's only the second Skitter I've killed and look, Jimmy, I'm already a crack shot!'. Seriously, you should consider a career in, like, counseling, therapy, or something, because you are fucking fantastic at it.”

Ben rolled his eyes and took another drink of his coke.

“Fine, be a smart ass,” he snapped, “I'm just trying to help out but I guess I'll stop...”

“Could you? Please? Stop.”

Ben smacked Jimmy's shoulder mock angrily. Jimmy stole the soda back.

“Listen. You want to know what I do...what Hal told me to do?” Ben prompted.

Jimmy frowned at the bottle opening and wondered if his and Ben's mouths having both touched it made it a form of indirect kissing then shrugged and took a tentative sip.

“No. What?” Jimmy lazily replied.

“Just pretend that the Skitter is going after something you really care about. Not just really care about but...like, the most important thing in the world to you. Like the thing that you know if you lost you'd just...just die. It would outright kill you,” Ben explained, “That you're protecting the one thing that matters most...I'm talking more than your own life.”

Jimmy processed Ben's suggestion, turning the words over in his mind. He sipped the soda absently as his thoughts wandered. Matters most, matters most...what in the world was left for him to protect that mattered most to him? Perhaps, the 2nd Mass.

But that didn't make sense. Jimmy felt every time he leveled a gun at a Skitter that he was doing it to protect the 2nd Mass and it certainly didn't help make him a better shot in battle.

“Is that what you did? When you shot that Skitter last night? Visualized that I was the thing you cared most about?” Jimmy questioned, “Like your dad or your brothers or something like that?”

Ben was quiet for a long time. Jimmy glanced at Ben and he lifted his soft brown eyes, shadowed with some indecipherable emotions, to meet Jimmy's.

“Uh...yeah, something like that,” Ben replied, smirking. Jimmy furrowed his brow, suspicious.

“So...then...what exactly did you visualize?” he pressed.

“Oh...um...you know....” Ben pulled at a loose thread coming from his pant leg.

“Come on. You're not going to tell me what you were imagining I was in order to save my life,” Jimmy teased.

“Uh...okay, fine. Uh...a....uh....I was thinking of...uh...a Playstation 3,” Ben stammered, then a little more firmly declared, “I was totally visualizing a Playstation 3.”

Jimmy fixed Ben with a dark glare.

“Really. A Playstation 3. You expect me to believe that the most important thing in your world, at this moment, at this very point in time, is a fucking Playstation 3,” Jimmy drawled sarcastically.

Ben took the soda from Jimmy's hand, gaining buoyancy at his answer, he continued, “Yeah. I would totally kill for a Playstation 3 right now. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I have an idea,” Jimmy muttered.

“Really? So you do understand where I'm coming from?”

“Yeah. You're an ass.”


	9. Chapter 9

Jimmy hadn't realized how dead he had felt inside for so long until he realized how alive he felt out on patrol with Ben. Out in the wilderness, alone, just the two of them. They would walk for hours, laughing and joking, or just quietly reveling in the other's company. Sometimes Jimmy would humor Ben's desire to push on without rest and they would spend the entire night wandering. On rare nights they stayed out well past the end of their patrol. 

There was a feral look in Ben's eyes, something dark and primal, haunted and eager all at once. It reminded Jimmy of the last time his parents had taken him and his little sister to the zoo. Jimmy was a brat fifth grader at the time. Convinced he was too old for something so childish as a day at the zoo with the family, he stole away when his parents were too busy pointing the monkeys out to his sister and roamed the park alone. 

By himself, Jimmy had found the tiger's den and, leaned against the railing on the wrong side of the yellow 'Do Not Cross' line. He had watched the big cat pace restlessly in its oversized, poorly decorated cage. It had darted these mesmerizing looks at its surroundings, its large golden eyes surveying its very small and unimpressive domain. Those eyes, much like Ben's. The eyes of a caged tiger.

Ben would talk about the Skitters as if they could be around the next corner, and every time they rounded that corner and a Skitter wasn't there, Jimmy felt certain Ben was just a little disappointed. By the end of the night, Ben would be drained of all excitement, as if the lack of killing on their parts was physically exhausting.

Sometimes Ben would humor Jimmy. They would take their time, lingering in places that interested Jimmy, resting here and there, staring longingly up at the sky and appreciating the vast milky ocean of stars.

“There's Orion's belt,” Ben pointed out, “And that one over there is the Big Dipper.”

Jimmy gaped in awe. “How do you know these things?”

Ben seemed an endless array of information on patrols. 'There's some ragweed', he would say, or 'Do you hear that? Badger.'

Ben shrugged and leaned forward on his knee. The two boys were sitting back to back on a wind-polished rock; their rifles leaned against a nearby tree.

“My dad,” Ben explained, then more reverently, “And my mom. We would go camping a lot on family vacations. Her pick. My dad always wanted to do some historical museums or reenactments or something like that. Hal loved camping. I loved the historical stuff. It's weird, because now I think...I miss the camping more and Hal misses the historical stuff.”

Jimmy snorted lightly at that, and leaned back to peer up at the stars again. Ben stood up and brushed his bottom off, walking around the rock then coming to stand off to the side with his hands on his hips.

He went on with his story, “When we'd get out to the woods it was like my parents were walking encyclopedias. Everything had a name, a history, an interesting fact, and between them they seemed to know them all.”

“You really miss your parents,” Jimmy noted, he nodded to the sky and asked, “You think your dad's out there somewhere.”

Ben shrugged, nodded, tilting his head back to look at the stars as well.

“He is. And I'm going to find a way to get him back someday,” Ben vowed, then more quietly, almost so that Jimmy couldn't hear, he said “I'm going to find a way to get them all back.”

The wind teased their hair. Somewhere in the far distance a wolf, or an orphaned dog more like, cried into the night. Jimmy drew his field vest more tightly around himself and leaned forward to glare at the muddy ground.

“My dad never took me camping,” he confessed.

Ben turned to stare openly at Jimmy. His mouth was slightly unhinged, his eyes a bit incredulous.

“What?” Jimmy questioned, suddenly self-conscious. Was there a Skitter growing out of his head?

“Nothing,” Ben hastily replied. He shrugged and explained, “You just...I've never heard you talk about your family before. I mean, I figured you had one but...”

Jimmy glared at his hands and sniffled loudly.

“Let's just get going,” he muttered. He stood, snatched up his rifle, and started to walk off but Ben darted in his path and put a hand to his shoulder to stop him.

“No wait,” Ben said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like a jerk.”

“But you did,” Jimmy shot back, “Can we forget it and just move on?”

“Jimmy...” Ben pleaded. 

Jimmy pushed the restraining hand off, jogging a bit away before slowing his pace. His breathing was heavy now, it felt like something was sitting on his chest, making it hard to pull air in. He was gasping for it, but it never quite filled his lungs. His eyes stung. He swiped angrily at his face, wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. He barely had the will to fight when Ben caught up, grabbed hold of his vest and spun him round.

“Jimmy-” Ben started.

“You think I don't know what people think when they see me?” Jimmy cut in, his voice borderline shout, “There's Jimmy, poor Jimmy. No family. No one who cares about him. All alone. Poor little pathetic Jimmy. Would've been better if he just died in the first attack instead.”

“No one thinks that,” Ben argued.

“Oh, and suddenly you're a mind reader? Did the fucking Skitters do that to you too?”

Ben flinched inwardly, taking a few steps back and shaking his head angrily at the ground. Jimmy felt a pang of guilt but he kept his eyes hard and jaw clenched. 

For a moment, Jimmy was staring down a ravine, he could jump or he could fall, but either way, he was destined to shatter at the bottom. He slung his gun across his chest by its strap and shoved his hands in his pockets. He turned his face out to glare into the forest.

When Jimmy spoke again, his voice was steady, but each word twisted in his gut with a sickening wrench, “My dad worked a lot. At a bank. He was a broker or whatever. Never had enough time, you know.”

Ben dared a peek at Jimmy, remained silent.

“My mom stayed at home. She volunteered a lot,” Jimmy went on. He wiped away a stray tear but kept talking. His body was shaking, trembling, but he tried to tell himself it was only the cold making him shudder, “At soup kitchens or PTA shit. Stupid things like that. She'd make me go, on weekends, sometimes. She...um...”

Jimmy's voice started to crack but he kept talking. Ben lowered his eyes again. He said nothing.

“She said I needed to learn responsibility and...uh...selflessness. I hated it. I would sneak off, hide in th – the – uh...the storage closets and play my gameboy. She'd get so mad,” he closed his eyes, smirked humorlessly at the memory, “She wouldn't talk to me the whole car ride home.”

A rabbit kicked up dirt nearby. A cricket chirped happily a song that spelled the secrets of its soul. 

“I don't have a family,” Jimmy said softly, “It's easier to say that. To say that than to say that...that...that these people existed and now...now they don't.”

Jimmy buried his face in a palm, rubbing his face dry. Ben watched a worm burrow into the ground. They stood like that a few seconds, lost in their own swirling thoughts and trying to pretend they weren't fully aware of the other boy standing in front of them.

“Let's get going,” Ben finally decided and Jimmy nodded.

They crunched ahead, Ben in the lead and Jimmy sulking behind, fidgeting with his gloves.

“Ben,” Jimmy called, his voice a hoarse crack. He cleared his throat. 

“Yeah?”

“About what I said...the Skitter comment,” Jimmy mumbled, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

“Yes, you did.” Ben shouldered his rifle and clambered deftly up a hill.

Jimmy followed more slowly and with a great deal less deft. “Well okay...maybe I did, but I am sorry. I won't say those kinds of things anymore. I promise.”

“Yeah, you will,” Ben scoffed, pausing and turning towards Jimmy.

“Fine. Maybe I will,” Jimmy admitted, looking up to lock his eyes on Ben's, “But I won't mean them.”

A toothy smile spread across Ben's face. He slowly closed the distance between himself and Jimmy until there were only inches between them.

“Yes. You will,” Ben insisted, and then he returned, “You think I don't know what people think when they see me? The razorback, right?”

Jimmy flinched but gave Ben the same respectful silence he'd received.

“They try to be nice to my face: poor kid harnessed by the Skitters, at least he's free now. So long as they don't have to touch me, or talk to me, or get anywhere near me, it's easy for them to feel sorry. But I just know they're all waiting to see if I turn back into a mindless alien slave. All of them, even you,” Ben ranted, eyes burning with a barely contained fire, “Difference is, at least you'll say it to my face.”

Jimmy chewed his inner cheek, drawing blood from the tender flesh. He felt like he'd been punched in his stomach. Was that really how Ben saw it?

“I kind of really like that about you,” Ben confessed. 

The blood rushed to Jimmy's head all at once. He nodded stiffly and hoped Ben didn't notice or wonder at the sudden color to his cheeks.

“I don't know entirely what the Skitters did to me. I know I'm not normal anymore and that it scares people,” Ben murmured. He sniffed loudly and glared out at the forest, “It scares me.” 

Jimmy folded his arms over his chest and glanced away from the other boy. Those kinds of confessions tended to be embarrassing for everyone involved. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and touched his chin to his collar bone.

“So people tiptoe around the subject. Some won't even say the word 'Skitter' around me. Like it's the dirtiest secret in the 2nd Mass, that I was harnessed,” Ben continued, he turned his gaze back to Jimmy, “But then there's you. You just make these comments about it, like it's no big deal and I feel like...like maybe it is no big deal.”

Ben's hand twitched forward suddenly as though to reach out for Jimmy, then fell limply back to his side just as suddenly. He frowned and sighed heavily.

“When I'm with you, it's like, I know I'm not normal, I know that the Skitters did things to me, things I don't even know about, but it doesn't scare me,” Ben admitted. He took a deep breath. Slid his eyes shut and whispered, “I'm not scared when I'm around you.”

A single heartbeat pounded in Jimmy's ears. For a split of a second, he was acutely aware of everything about Ben. His lithe muscular form. His strong shoulders straight and naturally rigid. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The cut of his jawline. The curve of his lip. The line of his neck and definition of his collar bone. The scent of his body a mild, musky mix of citrus and pine and a metallic hint of blood. Everything right down to the width of his stance and the golden roots of his hair.

In a hushed breath, Jimmy conceded, “Yeah.”


	10. Chapter 10

A couple days later, a patrol group failed to return. A few of the fighters volunteered to search; Hal, Jimmy and Ben were amongst them. Captain Weaver wanted larger groups of four and five searching the perimeter in case there were alien troops in the vicinity. While the parties searched, the rest of camp would work at packing up to be ready for a quick retreat.

Hal immediately took charge of their group. Ben rolled his eyes to Jimmy at his brother's bravado. Jimmy covered a smile. They were saddled with another boy, a fifteen year old, curly haired youth by the name of Jackson. Jackson had only just learned to shoot a rifle and the search party would be his first real mission. He eagerly followed Hal's every command which seemed to agitate Ben. Jimmy trailed behind the group, watching the other three boys' interactions with amusement.

Hal would give a command. Ben would question it. Jackson would quickly execute it. Hal would reprimand Ben. Ben would give Jackson flack. Jackson, often confused at the berating, would alternate between hanging back with Jimmy and following closely in Hal's footsteps.

At one point in time, following a particularly harsh argument between Hal and Ben, and Ben's subsequent lashing out at Jackson, Jackson fell to the back for several tens of minutes. Jimmy, concerned by the silence trailing at his back, peeked behind him and caught Jackson staring at the Ben's neck. Poking out from beneath the collar of Ben's t-shirt, a few of the silver rods that ran the length of his spine could be seen. Those hideous last remaining bits of his harness.

Jimmy cleared his throat and piped curiously, “You okay?”

Jackson glanced at the younger boy than lowered his eyes, having the decency to at least appear sheepish at having been staring.

“I guess it's true, huh? He's one of them?” Jackson whispered reply. 

Jimmy felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. He narrowed his eyes at Jackson threateningly. His hand at his side, the one not resting on the hilt of his gun, balled into a fist.

“One of who?” he demanded. Jackson shrugged and traced a finger over his gun trigger.

“One of those harnessed kids,” he mumbled explanation. 

Jimmy relaxed slightly. At least Jackson hadn’t used the slur, it was a good sign he didn’t mean any harm.

“I mean, I'd heard about him. Him and all the others. Everyone had. But it's a big group, lot of people. I'd never seen one of them before...not up close anyway” Jackson rambled on, “Kind of weird to think, isn't it? That we might have one up'd against the Skitters? Taking the kids back?”

“I guess,” Jimmy murmured, channeling some of Ben's annoyance towards the young man.

“Sorry. I know how I sound but I guess some of us just aren't used to hoping anymore,” Jackson said, “Not like you.”

“What?” Jimmy blinked, faltering in his step. In his time with the 2nd Mass he'd been called a lot of things, hopeful wasn't one of them.

At Jimmy's sudden stop, Ben paused and looked back to the other two boys in concern. Jackson furrowed his brow, clearly confused by the reaction.

“You're Jimmy Boland, right? The Ghost of Dorchester?” Jackson pressed.

A flicker of pain crossed Jimmy's features and he glanced at Ben, surprised and strangely relieved to find the other boy staring intently at him.

“People say you're a tough kid. That after those first attacks, you survived two months alone in Dorchester,” Jackson continued, ignoring the ever darkening look on Jimmy's face, “Then the militia found you and they didn't even have to ask, you just picked up a rifle. You know, I didn't even think I could do it – be a fighter, I mean – until I heard about you and I figured, a thirteen year old kid could do it, I should be able to. And I just always thought that to do what you did, to go through everything you did, it just had to take a lot of guts. And a lot of hope. A lot of hope.”

Jimmy could feel his breakfast climbing his throat. His eyes burned a hole into the ground, his grip on his gun was tight enough to turn his knuckles white and bruise his fingers.

“Not as much as you'd think,” he muttered bitterly, though his words were softer than a mouse's yawn out of fear that anything louder would take the contents of his stomach with them.

“We should keep moving,” Ben finally spoke up, the annoyance heavy in his tone.

“Ben's right,” Hal took over, for once that trip agreeing with his brother, “We don't have time to waste on chit chat. We need to find the lost patrol and get word back to the 2nd Mass.”

Gradually, the boys started forward again. Jackson caught up to Hal and Ben fell back to walk beside Jimmy. Jimmy watched the path pass beneath his feet. Ben didn't say a word but every so often his arm brushed against Jimmy's and, somehow, that was all Jimmy needed from the other boy.

About half an hour later, Weaver called the scouting parties back. The patrol had been found, dead, but not by Skitter claws. Their lives were ended by their own hands. Apparently, the two twenty-somethings had stolen pills or vials and needles or something like that from Dr. Glass's medical stash and overdosed on it. The popular theory around camp was that the two wanted to get high and underestimated the dosage, but a few whispered about a suicide pact.

Jimmy didn't seek out too many more details. The idiots were dead and gone. Over, done, hands washed clean. The 2nd Mass's location hadn't been compromised; they could stay in the woods a little longer. That was all he cared about, everything else was just frills.

Later in the day, Jimmy hung out on the outskirts of camp helping Dai inventory artillery. He hadn't gone all the way back into camp since returning from the search, afraid he wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye.

The Ghost of Dorchester. 

Was that what people really called him? It wasn't as though it didn't suit him but it still stung all the same.

Two months alone in Dorchester.

The fact that so many people knew so much about Jimmy's past, that they talked about it, shared it with others, was what really disturbed him. It was personal. It was private. It was something he wanted to forget.

“I'm going for dinner,” Dai announced. It was his first full sentence since Jimmy had met up with him. He'd been his typical taciturn the entire afternoon. 

That was what made hanging out with Dai so nice. Hours would pass without a word and they were comfortable, serene hours. Not to mention, the work Dai usually needed help with took a great deal of mental focus, so those hours weren't spent reflecting.

Dai departed without waiting for a response. Jimmy watched Dai's retreat back into camp for a few seconds before returning to his task at hand. He'd been counting cases of ammo, rearranging them by size, and refilling magazines. There were a lot of magazines in the 2nd Mass, of all shapes and sizes, for nearly every gun imaginable, and getting through half of them had taken the better part of his day.

But there was something soothing about loading magazines. Something soothing about the click of the bullet sliding into place.

Jimmy froze when he heard a throat clear behind him. He cursed himself for letting his guard down, letting someone get so close without his noticing – he's supposed to be a fighter, for crying out loud, until he turned around and saw it was Ben. Ben, with his freakish Skitter-gifted ninja abilities, didn't exactly count.

“Sorry,” Ben apologized all the same, “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“Then make noise once in a while when you walk,” Jimmy growled, fixing his eyes back on the magazine he was busily filling. He didn't bother looking up again when he felt Ben slide up behind him on the trailer bed, where the 2nd Mass stored most of its ammo. He leaned his back comfortably against Jimmy's and stared out the trailer into the surrounding woods.

“It's going to rain,” Ben noted. 

Jimmy glanced up at the rumbling overcast. He slid another bullet into place.

“It'll be nice. It's been such a dry summer,” Ben continued.

For whatever reason, Jimmy suddenly noticed the rods in Ben's back. They'd sat in that position a number of times and he'd never really noticed them before. Probably because he usually had his field vest on at the time and the extra padding made it impossible to feel the tiny nubs, but he'd discarded his vest hours ago when high noon sun and thick humidity made the additional layers unbearable. 

Now Jimmy could distinctly feel Ben's rods beneath their shirts. He frowned, slipping another bullet into the magazine.

“Don't let it get to you, Jimmy. Those things that jerk said,” Ben whispered.

Jimmy fumbled with the next bullet and it clattered to the wooden floor of the trailer bed.

“Don't do that,” Jimmy bit out tersely. 

“Do what?” Ben asked, genuinely confused. He pulled away from Jimmy and twisted round to look curiously at the other boy.

“I don't know what,” Jimmy muttered, “Just don't do it.”

“That is so obnoxious,” Ben spat.

“What?”

“You,” Ben snarled, “You with your usual closed off, passive aggressive – or sometimes just plain aggressive – attitude. You act like you're the only one who’s going through things.”

“You don't understand,” Jimmy grumbled.

“Right? Because nobody understands,” Ben persisted, “And you know what? You're right, I don't understand your crybaby, me against the world, bullshit. You talk about how you're all alone, but nobody is allowed to get close enough to you to help out. You let anyone two steps in and you shove them fifty steps back out the door. I just wanted to help-”

“Will you shut up? I'm not a fucking charity case, goddammit, Ben,” Jimmy roared. He plucked the bullet from the ground, and on his feet, tossed it across the trailer and jumped out of the bed. He paced a few times, heading several steps away from the trailer and then walking back.

Ben watched Jimmy, eyes still simmering with residual anger.

“Go away,” Jimmy commanded, rubbing his hand across his forehead, “Just go away and leave me alone right now.”

“Shit,” Ben mumbled, head lolling forward and shoulders sagging, as though he were suddenly exhausted, “Shit, shit. This isn't why I'm here. I didn't come to argue.”

“Go away,” Jimmy repeated. He folded his arms across his chest and turned his back to Ben. After a few pounding heartbeats, he could hear Ben sliding from the trailer bed, hear the other boy's footsteps pad away a few paces and stop. Jimmy sniffled for effect, and squared his shoulders, preparing himself to attack verbally or otherwise if need be, lining up the words he knew would cut deepest.

“I just came to tell you...I just wanted to say,” Ben stammered, obviously searching for the right phrasing. He sighed, probably deciding there was no delicate way to say exactly what he wanted, and just let the words roll out, “I will never ask you about Dorchester.”

A lump caught in Jimmy's throat. He loosened his stance slightly. Grimaced at the thorny binds squeezing in his chest.

“That's all. I just wanted you to know,” Ben murmured, “So...yeah. Later.”

Ben started away again, certain to make a bit of noise in his departure. Jimmy spun round, eyes following the other boy a moment.

“Ben,” he called.

Ben stopped, turned back slightly, his brow arched in question.

“How's about we do something semi-normal tonight?” Jimmy suggested.

Ben turned fully around to face Jimmy. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side, interest piqued.

“Like what?” Ben asked.

Jimmy smirked devilishly.


	11. Chapter 11

“You have done this before, right?” Ben asked for what might have been the hundredth time since he and Jimmy had slipped past the night watch and across the camp common grounds. 

Jimmy tilted his head side-to-side, thinking on the question. The boys ducked beneath one of the convoy station wagons as a cluster of civilians, teenage girls that felt their sewing skills would prove more useful than any skill they could develop with a gun, strode by giggling and chatting noisily.

“Jimmy,” Ben hissed, and the so-named young man couldn't help smirking at the extreme annoyance in that strangled tone, “You said you'd done this before.”

“Well...yeah, a few times. But...uh...not at this camp,” Jimmy sheepishly admitted. Ben shot him a bewildered look. He shrugged, “And uh...usually with someone else who knew what they were doing.”

They sprinted towards the main cabin, where the one kitchen on the grounds was located and a lot of the 2nd Mass food supplies were currently being stored. Jimmy produced the key from his pocket, grinning impishly. He hadn't exactly been clear on how he'd obtained the key, but he was exact when he said that it needed to be returned in precisely fifteen minutes.

Inside the main cabin, Jimmy led the way to the kitchen and to the large walk-in freezer. He opened the door and commanded Ben to, “Wait here,” then disappeared inside. He was gone less than a minute, returning with two large bottles. 

Before exiting the main cabin, Jimmy handed one of the bottles to Ben. He tucked the other into the side of his vest. Ben glanced curiously at Jimmy, and tucked his own bottle under an arm, which didn’t hide the bottle nearly as well. Jimmy rolled his eyes but made no comment.

Crossing camp to the cabin Ben shared with his two brothers was a lot easier. Jimmy left Ben there with the bottles to return the key and returned several minutes later looking fully rejuvenated. He clapped his hands together and declared, “Okay, let's drink.”

They spread a blanket out behind the cabin and sat side-by-side on it with their backs against the faux wood log wall. Jimmy popped open the bottles with the knife he kept strapped to his hip, handing one off to Ben and tentatively sipping at the other. Ben eyed the opening wearily and even peered inside in an unintentionally comical manner. He took a taste then made a bitter expression.

“So this is normal?” Ben questioned, slightly skeptical, and fighting down his gag reflex.

“Yeah,” Jimmy confirmed, and took a gulp of his bottle's contents. It was a thicker brew than he was used to, and felt heavy in his belly.

“How?” Ben demanded.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. 

“We're thirteen year old boys,” he pointed out, and when Ben still didn't seem to be comprehending, he added, “We're supposed to steal booze from our parents' liqueur cabinet, sneak out at night, and get stupidly drunk with friends. It's our right as teenagers, and there's no reason an alien invasion ought to take that away from us. So what if mom and dad are actually the 2nd Mass, we're not exactly sneaking out because no one can actually tell us we have to be inside, and it really wouldn't be wise to get stupidly drunk because the Skitters could attack any moment and we'd be dead, but that's why I said semi-normal.”

Ben looked at the bottle, then back to Jimmy, still clearly not convinced. Jimmy shook his head and guided the bottle to Ben's mouth.

“Just drink,” he commanded.

Ben took another sip and gagged. He watched as Jimmy tilted his head back, eyes closed, and let the liquid slide easily down his throat. He finished with a belch and smiled boyishly, wiping dribbles from his chin. Ben sighed, threw caution to the wind, tossed his own head back and chugged a good quarter of the bottle.

“Now you're getting it,” Jimmy laughed, slapping Ben's shoulder good-naturedly.

“Yeah. This stuff isn't so bad,” Ben replied, laughing as well.

“Good,” Jimmy said, relaxing back and taking another drink of his beer. Out the corner of his eye, he watched Ben chug another quarter of his own beer, the bottle now more than half empty. 

Jimmy swallowed his beer down hard and warned, “You should slow down. You're already halfway through a forty, and if you've never drunk before...”

“Wha...?” Ben looked at Jimmy through glossy eyes and an oddly quirked brow.

“You'll get drunk really fast,” Jimmy finished with a groan, frowning.

Ben burst into giggles, resting his bottle between his thighs and leaning his shoulder heavily against Jimmy's. He innocently quipped, “Is that bad?”

Jimmy fiddled with the label of his own bottle, delicately peeling it off in micrometers, then smoothing it back down.

“I guess not,” he muttered. Not like he really wanted to have coherent conversations or enjoy Ben's company in a relaxed atmosphere outside the throes of war or anything. 

“Is this what you used to do? Before?” Ben asked. His words were starting to slur, never a good sign. He took a smaller drink of his beer, then just held the bottle opening against his bottom lip, eyes boring into Jimmy.

“What do you mean?” Jimmy asked, still intent on the wrapping of his own beer.

“I mean, steal booze and get drunk with friends?” Ben pressed.

“You promised you wouldn't ask about that.”

“No,” Ben's voice was starting to regress to a childish whine, “I promised I wouldn't ask about Dorfendorsh – er – Dochesher – oh – shit, what was it called? That place where you were at.”

“Yes,” Jimmy whispered exasperated, then in a meek murmur, “Yes. This is what I used to do.”

“That's what I thought,” Ben said, snickering a little as though it were a private joke. 

The admission kind of stung Jimmy. He couldn't help wondering if he was really so transparent. He took a heavy draught of his beer, let it slide quickly down his throat in long, shivering waves. Ben would be plastered in a few more sips, Jimmy figured he ought to catch up.

“I guess this means we're friends now,” Ben noted, though it sounded more a question than a statement. He peered at Jimmy, clearly afraid the other boy would slap away the proverbial hand extended towards him.

“We've been friends, Ben,” Jimmy assured him. He wasn't exactly sure how long it had been true. Maybe since the night he'd told Ben about his parents. Or maybe it was when they blew up the mech. Or maybe it went as far back as that first patrol.

A broad, satisfied smile spread across Ben's face and refused to leave. He lay his head back to stare at the stars, only tearing his eyes away every now and then to take a small gulp of his drink. He finished his beer a lot sooner than Jimmy and his buzz was stronger and a lot cleaner. They talked, but not about anything relevant. They laughed, but not at anything funny. They argued, but not out of anger. 

It was the happiest Jimmy had felt since the sky had fell.

Eventually, Jimmy declared he needed to return to his cabin. He made the attempt to stand, but stumbled over his own feet and fell again to the ground, deciding instead to lay back and turn over to stare at the sky. He was on the floor, he didn't know why, and for some reason he couldn't stop laughing at that mystery.

Ben laughed uproariously at the display and then his joyful face filled Jimmy's vision. He leaned curiously over the sprawling Jimmy, bracing himself with his hand, though he was quickly sinking to his forearm, on the other side of Jimmy's body.

“You okay?” Ben gasped, between laughter.

“Yeah,” Jimmy confirmed. He put a hand over his eyes and smiled distantly. “I'm fantastic.”

The world was spinning out of control. But it was at the center of that spinning, the center that everything cycled round, that Jimmy could clearly see that thing, that one thing, that important thing that he cared more about, that mattered more, than his own life. His heart felt tight and small. His lungs compressed. Every hair on his body stood on end, every cell of his skin tingled. The weight of Ben across him was nice, it kept him grounded, otherwise he would probably fly off into the night sky with this electric feeling jolting through him.

I like you, Jimmy.

A hand covered Jimmy’s own across his eyes, holding him blinded for a moment, and Jimmy froze at the ghostly touch to his lips. It was skin, but not. Tender, curved, slightly damp, and a bit chapped, rough: a mouth. Soothing and familiar, yet, strange and disorienting all at once. It was barely there at first, then it settled in, its curves finding a way to nestle perfectly against his own and gently, almost so it seemed of his own accord and perhaps it partly was, separating his lips a fraction of a millimeter and allowing a taste of the slick warmth within. An oddly delicious mix of sweetness like an apple, and bitter like the beer he had finished drinking tens of minutes ago.

And then all at once, it was gone, taking with it all of Jimmy's breath and strength, so that he could only languish on the ground gasping for air.

“M'sorry,” Ben mumbled, the hot blast of his breath exacerbating the already overwhelming tenderness in Jimmy's lips, “My fault.”

Ben pulled away, and with him went all his warmth and security and Jimmy was left feeling cold and vulnerable as he slipped into a dream-tortured sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Jimmy woke when a sharp pain exploded in his side. His eyes peeled open, and squeezed shut again. Too bright.

“Get up,” a hard voice growled. There was a sound nearby, shuffling and grunted complaints.

“Cut it out,” Ben's voice grumbled, “Let go...”

At the other boy's words, Jimmy bolted up into a sitting position, eyes open and alert, frantically surveying the situation. He was still behind the Mason's cabin, except it was morning now. Hal was dragging Ben up off the ground not too far away, his face contorted with several degrees of anger. 

Anthony stood behind Hal, arms folded over his chest, eyes downcast. Maggie was also there, leaning against the cabin and peering round its corner at the boys' interactions. Jimmy's eyes darted to the beer bottles, lying empty and obvious on the crumpled, muddy blanket where they had left them the night before.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet, “Hal, I can explain...” he started, but it came out a scratchy croak. His throat throbbed with pain. Passing out in the open air hadn't been the best of ideas, it seemed. It's not his fault, he tried to say, but he couldn't make the sounds come out.

“Stay out of it, kid,” Anthony warned kindly, walking towards Jimmy and placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. They all watched quietly and somewhat trailed after, as Ben struggled against his older brother leading him into the cabin.

Jimmy leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest, brow wrinkled in a mix of apprehension and pain from the thrumming hangover he had. Maggie and Anthony huddled together nearby, trying to appear disinterested, and glancing at him every now and then. 

Hal, Maggie, Anthony, none of them had any lectures to give Jimmy about the evils of drinking and staying out late, they'd all shared a beer with him once or twice. Sometimes they forgot how young he was or maybe they just didn't care. 

But Ben could never be forgotten. He was Hal's younger brother, there was an obligation of protection and a memory of someone innocent before the war.

Inside the cabin, bits and pieces of the brothers' shouted conversation could be heard.

“What the hell were you thinking, Ben?” Hal demanded.

Muffled response from Ben.

“Matt was inside this cabin sleeping....” Incomprehensible, angry words, “...if something happened...”

“...taken care of it,” Ben growled.

“...drunk...you couldn't stand...passed out...”

Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and lowered his face. He chewed his inner cheek until blood spilled out, then, wincing, dug his tongue into the newly made hole.

“...act like you've never done anything...”

“This is different! Everything is different! You need to realize that and grow up-”

“You think I don't know that? I know better than anyone how different things are!”

There was a crash inside, like something smashed or thrown. Jimmy startled, his reaction more exaggerated because of his exhaustion. Maggie pursed her lips and wrapped her arms around herself anxiously. Anthony lifted his eyes to the door, clearly considering whether he should interfere with the fight.

There were more exchanged words unheard and then Ben shouted, “....you know what the fuck is going on with me!”

Another muffled exchange.

“Dad would be so impressed,” Hal spat, “Getting wasted...mouthing off...”

Ben interrupted with something else.

Hal raged in return, “Maybe you shouldn't be hanging out so much with Jimmy.”

Jimmy felt as though he'd been sucker punched. He drew his breath in shakily, and tightened his arms around himself. Maggie's eyes searched his out, her own soft and sympathetic. Anthony's attention never left the cabin door.

There were a few more inaudible verbal jabs inside, and then the cabin door slammed open and Ben burst out. His eyes found Jimmy, burning with an overwhelming intensity. It was that wild animal, that predatory look, the one that scorched through every inch of Jimmy's skin. Instinctively, regrettably, Jimmy shrunk back from it, startled. Ben's expression fell at that reaction, his eyes downcast. He shook his head, frustrated maybe, or trying to dispel the pent up, restless energy.

Hal's figure filled the door frame, “Ben, get back in here right now.”

Ben ignored the command. He turned away and stalked off across the camp. Hal made to go after him, but Anthony jumped in the way, holding the younger man back with a firm hand on his chest.

“Let him go,” Anthony advised, “He's not getting far, it's a small camp. So just let him go, and give yourselves time to cool your heads.”

Maggie, however, was still watching Jimmy, her expression blank, her eyes unreadable. Yet, there was something there in the small twitch at the corner of her mouth that sent a shiver down Jimmy's spine. Something like a knowing. A shared awning of realization at something that Jimmy couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but felt nonetheless. 

Several heartbeats ticked off a slow passage of time. Jimmy turned and followed after Ben.


	13. Chapter 13

Jimmy watched Ben pace, sitting on an upturned crate at the abandoned ranger station. Neither of them had said anything since leaving the Masons' cabin. Every now and then, Ben would pause, put his hands on his hips, shake his head, make incomprehensible noises, then start pacing again.

Jimmy was leaned forward on his knees. He traced his bottom lip with a thumb and struggled to sort out the twist of memories and emotions from the night before. Most of it was a blur. He remembered getting the key and sneaking into the food stores to steal the beers but afterward everything got fuzzy. He couldn't recall any particular conversations or anything they might have done. In fact, he really couldn't distinctly remember much of anything, except...

Jimmy lowered his eyes. Blood crept up his neck towards his cheeks, his forehead, and out to his ears. He took a slow breath. 

Jimmy could remember Ben's mouth on his. He could almost still feel it, taste it. He looked back to the other boy, standing now with one hand on hip, the other massaging his forehead. Jimmy wondered how much Ben remembered. He decided against asking. It was an accident. It just sort of happened, no reason to make a big deal over it.

“You know, when Hal was fourteen our mom caught him smoking,” Ben finally broke the silence.

Jimmy straightened, full attention on Ben. He'd always seen Hal as being perfect. The all-American golden boy that never broke any rules his parents laid down, though he might toe them every now and then to prove he could if he really wanted. The image of a smaller, scrawnier Hal holding a cigarette, choking on its fumes, was almost comical, if not slightly disturbing.

“We came home from the grocery store, Hal was upstairs with a bunch of friends...teammates from lacrosse. They had all lit up cigarettes and were attempting to smoke them. Mom could smell it as soon as she walked in the door,” Ben went on with his story, folding his arms over his chest and scowling at the ground, “She raced upstairs and found them all coughing and hacking up lungs in Hal's bedroom. They had already put them out and were trying to crack a window by the time she got there. He was grounded for a whole month.”

Jimmy swallowed down the chuckles threatening to burst out at that story, he could tell Ben hadn't told it for laughs, but it was hard to see Hal being so stupid about sneaking cigarettes.

“When he was twelve, and our dad took us fishing, and we were allowed to invite a friend and he brought his one friend from school...Dustin...Justin...whatever, they stole one of the beers from the ice chest and tried drinking it when dad was showing me how to tie a proper fisherman's knot and was really just making a mess of the line,” Ben kept going, “They couldn't stand the taste but they chugged it to get it done quickly and when we got on the boat, they both blew chunks. At first Dad thought they were just sick, maybe food poisoning from the taco stand we stopped at for breakfast, but then he realized one of his beers was missing. Hal was grounded for three weeks.”

Younger Hal really was an idiot, Jimmy decided, smirking despite himself. It was a good thing the older version seemed to have developed common sense, otherwise, Jimmy was sure he'd have been dead or harnessed long ago. Ben sniffed, ran the back of his hand under his nose and across his mouth.

“And when Hal was ten and I was seven, he told me I should ask our grandmother what a blow-job was, that she would like it.”

Jimmy couldn't stop himself from laughing at that one. He quickly muffled the half-snort, half-snicker that burst out of him, but by then it was too late, the seal was broken. Ben looked at the other boy, unamused, if not slightly miffed at the display.

“I'm sorry,” Jimmy sputtered, not convincing with a fist dug into his mouth to stifle the laughter, “But please tell me you didn't...”

“My grandma referred to me as 'the little pervert' whenever she thought I was out of earshot, and she never got me another Christmas or birthday present right up to the day she died,” Ben griped.

Jimmy clutched his stomach, bowling over with hysterical laughter.

“Will you stop that?” Ben cried, “It's not funny...”

Jimmy shook his head, unable to contain himself. Ben glared at the ground, a small smile warming his features.

“Maybe it's a little funny,” Ben admitted. 

Eventually, Jimmy's laughter began to die down and he smirked apologetically up at Ben, inviting him to continue.

“The point is,” Ben grumbled, frowning again, “Hal is a hypocrite.”

“I guess. He's just being the older brother,” Jimmy shrugged, mumbling, “It's not an easy thing to be.”

Ben perked a brow at that, folding his arms across his chest, waiting for Jimmy to elucidate on that statement. Jimmy ran a hand over his face and leaned forward on his knees again.

“It seems like it would be, anyway…I guess,” he mumbled, “And maybe Hal is right. It was stupid of us to do that...”

“It was your idea,” Ben started.

“I know,” Jimmy snapped, pinning the other boy with an icy blue glare, “And it was stupid. I guess I wanted to forget responsibility for a bit...but we can't do that, we don't have that choice. Because if you forget your responsibilities, for a day, a minute, even a second...you can lose everything.” Jimmy dropped his gaze to the ground and sucked on his lower lip, blood seeping through dry cracks, “I forgot that. And I know better.”

“Jimmy...” Ben began to say, a question ready on his tongue and Jimmy hastily shook his head to stop it.

“Maybe you should take it a little easier on Hal,” Jimmy suggested quietly, “He's doing the best he can given current situations...”

“Why are you suddenly on his side?” Ben demanded, pacing again, in restless agitation.

“I didn't say I was,” Jimmy replied earnestly, “I just said relax a little. And would you sit down, you're making me nauseous.”

“Sit down?” Ben repeated dumbly. His brow shot up and he glanced around them before settling his focus back on Jimmy and noting, “There's just the one crate.”

Jimmy made a face. They'd shared that same crate a few days ago, sitting side-by-side with shoulders flush, plotting the night's patrol and swapping stories about their fellow 2nd Mass fighters. He searched Ben's expression for a clue, and when their eyes met, a shared acknowledgment jolted through them. 

Yup. Ben definitely remembered the night before.

Their faces blanched and they found sudden interest in anything but each other.

“So...um...last night...” Ben stammered. 

Jimmy bolted to his feet, feeling like he suddenly needed to be somewhere, anywhere, but right there in that moment.

“Just forget about it. We need to get back to camp,” he announced, unable to look at Ben as he spoke, he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach the pained expression that he would find on the other boy's face, “After what happened yesterday, Weaver will be doing random head checks every other hour for the next month and if we're not there for one, all hell might break loose.”

Jimmy didn't wait for a response, jogging a couple meters away before slowing to a determined stride towards camp. He didn't know if Ben was following and he couldn't bring himself to look back and see.

It was an accident. It happened, it was over, and done. There was no reason to rehash it if they both just accepted that it was a momentary, drunken thing and meant nothing.

After all, some things were better left unsaid.

Some things were better left in the past. 

And some people deserved to be alone.


	14. Chapter 14

Jimmy watched Ben pace, sitting on an upturned crate at the abandoned ranger station. Neither of them had said anything since leaving the Masons' cabin. Every now and then, Ben would pause, put his hands on his hips, shake his head, make incomprehensible noises, then start pacing again.

Jimmy was leaned forward on his knees. He traced his bottom lip with a thumb and struggled to sort out the twist of memories and emotions from the night before. Most of it was a blur. He remembered getting the key and sneaking into the food stores to steal the beers but afterward everything got fuzzy. He couldn't recall any particular conversations or anything they might have done. In fact, he really couldn't distinctly remember much of anything, except...

Jimmy lowered his eyes. Blood crept up his neck towards his cheeks, his forehead, and out to his ears. He took a slow breath. 

Jimmy could remember Ben's mouth on his. He could almost still feel it, taste it. He looked back to the other boy, standing now with one hand on hip, the other massaging his forehead. Jimmy wondered how much Ben remembered. He decided against asking. It was an accident. It just sort of happened, no reason to make a big deal over it.

“You know, when Hal was fourteen our mom caught him smoking,” Ben finally broke the silence.

Jimmy straightened, full attention on Ben. He'd always seen Hal as being perfect. The all-American golden boy that never broke any rules his parents laid down, though he might toe them every now and then to prove he could if he really wanted. The image of a smaller, scrawnier Hal holding a cigarette, choking on its fumes, was almost comical, if not slightly disturbing.

“We came home from the grocery store, Hal was upstairs with a bunch of friends...teammates from lacrosse. They had all lit up cigarettes and were attempting to smoke them. Mom could smell it as soon as she walked in the door,” Ben went on with his story, folding his arms over his chest and scowling at the ground, “She raced upstairs and found them all coughing and hacking up lungs in Hal's bedroom. They had already put them out and were trying to crack a window by the time she got there. He was grounded for a whole month.”

Jimmy swallowed down the chuckles threatening to burst out at that story, he could tell Ben hadn't told it for laughs, but it was hard to see Hal being so stupid about sneaking cigarettes.

“When he was twelve, and our dad took us fishing, and we were allowed to invite a friend and he brought his one friend from school...Dustin...Justin...whatever, they stole one of the beers from the ice chest and tried drinking it when dad was showing me how to tie a proper fisherman's knot and was really just making a mess of the line,” Ben kept going, “They couldn't stand the taste but they chugged it to get it done quickly and when we got on the boat, they both blew chunks. At first Dad thought they were just sick, maybe food poisoning from the taco stand we stopped at for breakfast, but then he realized one of his beers was missing. Hal was grounded for three weeks.”

Younger Hal really was an idiot, Jimmy decided, smirking despite himself. It was a good thing the older version seemed to have developed common sense, otherwise, Jimmy was sure he'd have been dead or harnessed long ago. Ben sniffed, ran the back of his hand under his nose and across his mouth.

“And when Hal was ten and I was seven, he told me I should ask our grandmother what a blow-job was, that she would like it.”

Jimmy couldn't stop himself from laughing at that one. He quickly muffled the half-snort, half-snicker that burst out of him, but by then it was too late, the seal was broken. Ben looked at the other boy, unamused, if not slightly miffed at the display.

“I'm sorry,” Jimmy sputtered, not convincing with a fist dug into his mouth to stifle the laughter, “But please tell me you didn't...”

“My grandma referred to me as 'the little pervert' whenever she thought I was out of earshot, and she never got me another Christmas or birthday present right up to the day she died,” Ben griped.

Jimmy clutched his stomach, bowling over with hysterical laughter.

“Will you stop that?” Ben cried, “It's not funny...”

Jimmy shook his head, unable to contain himself. Ben glared at the ground, a small smile warming his features.

“Maybe it's a little funny,” Ben admitted. 

Eventually, Jimmy's laughter began to die down and he smirked apologetically up at Ben, inviting him to continue.

“The point is,” Ben grumbled, frowning again, “Hal is a hypocrite.”

“I guess. He's just being the older brother,” Jimmy shrugged, mumbling, “It's not an easy thing to be.”

Ben perked a brow at that, folding his arms across his chest, waiting for Jimmy to elucidate on that statement. Jimmy ran a hand over his face and leaned forward on his knees again.

“It seems like it would be, anyway…I guess,” he mumbled, “And maybe Hal is right. It was stupid of us to do that...”

“It was your idea,” Ben started.

“I know,” Jimmy snapped, pinning the other boy with an icy blue glare, “And it was stupid. I guess I wanted to forget responsibility for a bit...but we can't do that, we don't have that choice. Because if you forget your responsibilities, for a day, a minute, even a second...you can lose everything.” Jimmy dropped his gaze to the ground and sucked on his lower lip, blood seeping through dry cracks, “I forgot that. And I know better.”

“Jimmy...” Ben began to say, a question ready on his tongue and Jimmy hastily shook his head to stop it.

“Maybe you should take it a little easier on Hal,” Jimmy suggested quietly, “He's doing the best he can given current situations...”

“Why are you suddenly on his side?” Ben demanded, pacing again, in restless agitation.

“I didn't say I was,” Jimmy replied earnestly, “I just said relax a little. And would you sit down, you're making me nauseous.”

“Sit down?” Ben repeated dumbly. His brow shot up and he glanced around them before settling his focus back on Jimmy and noting, “There's just the one crate.”

Jimmy made a face. They'd shared that same crate a few days ago, sitting side-by-side with shoulders flush, plotting the night's patrol and swapping stories about their fellow 2nd Mass fighters. He searched Ben's expression for a clue, and when their eyes met, a shared acknowledgment jolted through them. 

Yup. Ben definitely remembered the night before.

Their faces blanched and they found sudden interest in anything but each other.

“So...um...last night...” Ben stammered. 

Jimmy bolted to his feet, feeling like he suddenly needed to be somewhere, anywhere, but right there in that moment.

“Just forget about it. We need to get back to camp,” he announced, unable to look at Ben as he spoke, he knew he wouldn't be able to stomach the pained expression that he would find on the other boy's face, “After what happened yesterday, Weaver will be doing random head checks every other hour for the next month and if we're not there for one, all hell might break loose.”

Jimmy didn't wait for a response, jogging a couple meters away before slowing to a determined stride towards camp. He didn't know if Ben was following and he couldn't bring himself to look back and see.

It was an accident. It happened, it was over, and done. There was no reason to rehash it if they both just accepted that it was a momentary, drunken thing and meant nothing.

After all, some things were better left unsaid.

Some things were better left in the past. 

And some people deserved to be alone.


	15. Chapter 15

Franklin stood, one leg propped up on the stool, making a jerking motion with his balled up hand near his crotch and grunting exaggeratedly. The other teens sitting around laughed at his display. Jimmy sat cleaning out his rifle; he peered up curiously, smirking slightly but for the most part ignoring the other boy.

“...and he just kept beating off, you know,” Franklin was saying excitedly, eyes misty with the long ago memory he was sharing with the group, “So she's staring at him now, just like standing right in front of him, just gaping, and he's really going at it hardcore now...”

Maggie took a seat beside Jimmy, she'd been working on her own rifle a few chairs down, and he nodded acknowledgment to her. She smiled in return and took the lubricant Jimmy had been using moments before to grease the barrel of his gun. She jutted her chin out in a gesture towards Franklin.

“You're not listening to this shit, are you?” she whispered.

Jimmy shrugged, “I've heard worse things.”

“That's not what I mean,” she said. She faltered and seemed to decide on a subject change, “How's Ben doing?”

Jimmy lowered his eyes, narrowing his focus on his work. He hadn't seen Ben, not since that “morning after”. That was a day and a half ago. He didn't want anyone to think he'd been avoiding Ben, but when he'd skipped several meals, decided a shower could wait another day when he spotted Ben entering the park bathhouse, and spent three hours in a storage closet counting mothballs just because someone had mentioned Ben asked about him, he didn't exactly have a whole lot of evidence to support otherwise.

Maggie nudged Jimmy with her shoulder to get his attention, his prolonged silence probably worrying her.

“What Hal said the other day,” Maggie told him, “Don't let that keep you away from Ben.”

Jimmy nodded numbly, trembling fingers fumbling his rifle pieces back into place. If only Maggie knew the half of it.

“Hey Jimmy,” Franklin called, “A few of us are going to toss a frisbee. Want to come?”

Jimmy glanced at Maggie, intent on pretending she was more interested in her rifle at the moment. He secured the last piece of his own rifle into place and hefted its weight in his hands, making a show of examining its sight for accuracy to hide that he was scanning the area the other teens were heading in for any signs of Ben. It wasn't that he thought anyone would know what he was doing, but he felt like Maggie might suspect, and that thought unnerved him.

“Yeah, sure,” Jimmy answered Franklin casually, lowering his weapon. He stood and slung the rifle over his shoulder, falling into step with the older boy.

“Since you been patrolling with the razorback, I never see you anymore. I'm hurt, Jimmy, really,” Franklin teased. 

Jimmy rolled his eyes, ignoring the sharp jolt that shocked through him at the careless slur.

“How are things going with that freak, anyways? Is it weird? Is he weird?” Franklin asked.

Jimmy jerked to a halt. He had to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from launching into a verbal assault on the other boy. His head felt far too hot for comfort.

“Shit,” he seethed, after a few seconds, letting all his heat burn out in that one word before grumbling excuse, “I forgot. Weaver wanted me to...uh...help Dr. Glass with something. Moving stuff, I think.”

Franklin furrowed his brow, unimpressed but he shrugged and said something about 'next time', continuing after the other teens. Jimmy watched the older boy retreat, then shouldered his rifle and turned back in towards camp. He didn't return Maggie's questioning gaze as he hastened by towards the mess tent. 

They were serving hamburgers for lunch; one of the scouting groups had found frozen ground beef in the back of a grocery store in a nearby ghost town up north. The find had been like Christmas for the 2nd Mass.

It was in the mess tent that Jimmy spotted Hal. He hadn't exactly been avoiding the eldest Mason son, but considering outside of Jimmy the few other people that didn't act as though they were merely tolerating Ben's presence was his family, Hal sort of ended up avoided out of brotherly association.

Jimmy watched the older boy a moment from the outskirts of the crowded tent. Hal was setting his youngest brother, Matt, up at a table with some food next to Uncle Scott, the kindly older gentleman that taught the 2nd Mass children in lieu of the proper education they'd been robbed of by the alien invasion. When Matt looked amply secure, happily munching down his burger, Hal slipped from the tent. 

Maggie's advice moments ago came flitting back to Jimmy then, don't let that keep you from Ben, and his heart fluttered in his chest. Hal's words had affected Jimmy, he couldn't lie to himself about that, but he couldn't help wondering if his foolish actions were keeping Hal from Ben.

Jimmy strode off in the same direction Hal had left. He found the older boy sitting around one of the pick-up trucks with Dai and Anthony, they were talking in hushed whispers, Jimmy assumed about the missing Mason patriarch. Jimmy knew Hal had been tossing around ideas to rescue his father, most of them were just grandiose bullshitting but on rare occasion, when he thought he'd come up with something concrete, he'd meet with a few of the fighters he trusted most, like Dai and Anthony, and hash out details with them. For the most part, those fighters usually talked Hal out of the plan, pointing out glaring flaws like the fact they had no clue where to even begin in finding Professor Mason.

The three young men stopped in their talks when Jimmy approached, and Hal was the only one not to look directly at the younger boy. Jimmy halted several paces back from them, swallowing hard, and clearing his throat.

“Uh...Hal...can I talk to you?” he asked, wincing at the waver in his words. His legs felt like jelly. He worried Hal might attack him, yell, or worse, say 'no'.

Hal darted a glance up at Jimmy, then fixed his eyes on a spot in the distance. He nodded stiffly. Dai and Anthony exchanged a look, silently agreeing to make themselves scarce and wandered far enough off that they were out of hearing range but close enough to keep an eye on the interaction between the two conversing boys.

“About the other night,” Jimmy began, and he could see the darkness gather in Hal's expression, but clenched his fists and continued on unabated, “It was my fault. My idea.” Jimmy ducked his head down in a manner he knew made him look weak and squeezed his eyes shut, “Ben didn't even really want to...I practically forced him. So don't be mad at Ben...be mad at me.”

Hal didn't respond for a long time. Jimmy dared a peek up at the boy, keeping his face lowered and peering at him through loose strands of shaggy brown hair falling across his features. Hal's expression was hard, his jaw tense and eyes haunted in a way that instantly made Jimmy think of Ben. Jimmy's heart thundered in his chest. A small, strange sound, like a whimper or squeak, escaped his throat. He chewed his inner cheek until the blood spilled out.

“I'm sorry,” Jimmy whispered, “I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about Matt and I never would have...if I....I really am sorry, Hal.” He dropped his eyes again, his entire body tense and trembling. He had to fight the next words out of his mouth and once he had, it seemed, they sliced his heart clean in half, “I'll ask Weaver to take me off patrols with Ben.”

Hal shifted, the ruffle of his clothing marking his movement.

“You don't need to do that,” he said. His words were terse, but sincere.

“You don't want me hanging out with Ben,” Jimmy pointed out.

There was a long drawn out silence. It felt as though the air around them dropped twenty degrees in temperature and that the distance between them had spread from a few feet to worlds apart.

“You heard that?” Hal mumbled question.

Jimmy didn't say anything. He didn't need to, Hal already knew the answer. Another rustle of clothing, and then the weight of a large hand fell on Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy startled, looking up at Hal in surprise. Hal was still glaring at that nothing in the distance.

“You're a good kid,” Hal admitted. 

Jimmy pursed his lips and dropped his gaze once again. He felt like a charlatan. A wolf parading in sheep's clothing.

“And you're Ben's only friend,” Hal noted, his eyes finally falling to Jimmy, and quietly he said, “Ben would never forgive me if I were the reason he lost you.”

Hal snorted softly, glared in the distance once more.

“If that happened, I think he would hate me more than he already does, and usually I wouldn't think that were possible,” Hal mused aloud. 

Jimmy frowned, hastily protesting, “Ben doesn't hate you.”

Hal dropped his hand from Jimmy’s shoulder and walked back towards the truck, absently running a hand through his hair. Jimmy was suddenly struck with the notion that he was an intruder on a very intimate scene.

“You know what's funny?” Hal said, his tone light and slightly bemused. He glanced back at Jimmy and Jimmy shrugged response, a little whip-lashed by the sudden shift in their conversation, “That thing you said, about the other night being your idea. You know, Ben said the same exact thing. That it was his idea and that you didn't really want to do it.” He gave Jimmy an appraising once over, as though suddenly he were seeing the younger boy cast in a completely new light, “And I don't really know who to believe.”

Jimmy considered the comment. He nodded shortly, a small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth, and turned to leave.


	16. Chapter 16

It was only the second down of the first quarter and dad had already found something more pressing to occupy his attention. Work had called, they needed the papers for the Stanton Estate, and had the accounts for Fillmore and Donovan been settled, and where was his briefcase, and goddammit James, could you put your fucking dog outside.

Mom had only just pulled the third pie out of the oven. Pumpkin, apple, and cherry, one for everyone, she'd joke. The Wilson's were on their way over, hopefully Beverly Wilson made her famous candied yams, they were dad's favorite and he could almost taste them melting on his tongue. The stench of turkey has soaked into every crack and crevice of the house, dinner will be ready soon. James, put your jacket on if you're going out.

The Wilson twins wear matching bow-ties. They take turns pinching Jimmy's arms, flicking his ears, hey, James, look over there, SLAP. Why does he look every time? What an idiot. Beverly Wilson and mom politely disagree about the best way to mash potatoes. Jack Wilson and dad talk about Dow Jones and hedge funds and those fucking bleeding heart liberals are bleeding the economy dry, always wanting to give our money to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.

_Jimmy._ She stares up at him with blue eyes so clear they reflect the world around her. Her dress is paisley, it comes to her knees and she's so proud of it, she spins it round to show how it twirls. _I love you, Jimmy. You'll always take care of me. Right?_

The turkey is burning. It's turning black in the oven. Mom and dad are yelling, James turn off the television, James put the fucking dog outside, James what did you do to the twins, James you get to your room right now, young man. 

A bottle of wine tips off the counter, crashes to the ground, its contents spilling out in a gushing stream, crimson red soaking into the carpet. 

The Wilsons are leaving. Dad has to leave for the office. Mom doesn't want to clean the kitchen, dad should make his fucking secretary do it, she does everything else for him and, for crying out loud James, where is your sister? Where is your sister?

__

Right?

Jimmy shot up from the bed, sweat drenched and gasping for air to fill his lungs, his hand twitching towards his rifle against the wall. He was in the cabin. In the woods. It wasn't Thanksgiving with the Wilsons, and as far as he could tell, the aliens weren't attacking at the moment. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing away the emotions swarming there.

“Tyler, don't forget that corner over there,” a shaky, high-pitched voice warned, “Jenny, use more bleach. Get the rag wet...the rag.”

Jimmy lowered his hands, his brow furrowing in confusion. He looked around the room. Out of the window he could see it was pitch black outside. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, the digital numbers read '1:27'. Why were the small children awake at such an hour and what were they doing with bleach?

Tentatively, Jimmy climbed from out of bed and slowly tip-toed to the door. He cracked it open and peeked out.

All three children were awake. They were wearing light clothing, the things they slept in, and they were barefoot. They had damp rags and were on their hands and knees, moving the rags along the cabin's wooden floor, cleaning it as best they could with their small arms and groggy states. Their mother was amongst them, furiously scrubbing with her own rag. There was a bucket full of water that reeked of bleach in the middle of the room and every now and then she would dunk her rag in the bucket, wring it out, and continue scrubbing.

Jimmy opened the door completely and stepped out. The three children stopped in their work, staring up at him in wide, pleading eyes. Their mother didn't pause, rubbing the rag desperately back and forth with all her weight.

“Mrs. Hayes,” he spoke up, uncertainly. Her behavior unnerved him, in some ways frightened him more than a Skitter, but she was an adult who had been rational hours ago when he said good-night as she put Tyler to bed, so he was certain talking to her would somehow bring her back to normal.

She didn't really stop her cleaning, just slowed and looked up at Jimmy, her expression startled but not surprised. Her eyes were strange. Jimmy couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something there that caused him to take a tiny step towards the children and wish he'd brought his rifle with him.

“What...are you doing?” Jimmy asked, his voice quiet and slow.

“Cleaning,” Mrs. Hayes explained. She sounded breathless and her words came out in a rush, “We have to clean this whole place. You should help. Grab a rag.”

Her focus went back to the floor and again she was viciously attacking the wood with her rag. Cleaning, Jimmy mouthed, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Why?” he blurted out.

“Because we have to,” Mrs. Hayes stated, matter-of-factly, “This place is a mess. It needs to be completely scrubbed down. Every inch. Washed, bleached, and polished.”

“All of that tonight?” Jimmy cried, “These kids need to be in bed. They’re exhausted.”

The youngest was crying now. The girl had her arms wrapped around her knees. Tyler seemed frozen in place, staring blankly at his mother.

“But it needs to be done,” she protested.

“No, it doesn't,” Jimmy argued.

Mrs. Hayes stopped altogether. Her eyes locked on Jimmy and, for just a moment, something twisted, sinister, contorted her features and for just that moment, Jimmy felt certain he might actually need his gun. 

“Mrs. Hayes,” Jimmy started, thinking a new approach might be in his best interest. He kept his voice calm and steady, holding his hands in front of himself in a way he hoped she didn't find offensive, “Look at what you're doing. You're scaring your kids.”

“They aren't scared...”

“But they are,” Jimmy calmly explained. He wet his lips and swallowed down a growing lump in his throat, “Look at them. They don't need to clean. They need to go to bed.”

“But the cleaning...” Mrs. Hayes whispered. Her face had fallen. She was frowning now, her bedraggled hair falling in her confused eyes.

“It's not important right now,” Jimmy assured her and added, “It can be done in the morning.”

Mrs. Hayes opened her mouth and closed it again. She blinked a few times, the strangeness in her eyes fading, their look returning to something more normal. She looked around herself, running a hand over her face.

“Yeah. Yeah, you're right. This isn't important now. We should go to bed,” she agreed. She looked up at Jimmy, concern etched in her features. She reached to clutch his hand, “Jimmy, I'm sorry, sweetheart. We didn't wake you, did we? You work so hard to protect us all, you and all the other fighters. It's so important that you get your rest.”

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, shrugging. 

“No, Mrs. Hayes, you didn't,” he whispered, “Why don't we go to bed now? Okay?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Hayes agreed.

Mrs. Hayes seemed to pass out as soon as her head hit the pillow. Jimmy put the children to bed in his and Tyler's shared room. He sat with the youngest, rubbing circles in the small boy's back, until his sobbing stopped and his breathing became soft and steady.

The rest of the night, Jimmy sat on the floor leaning back against the wall in the room with the bucket, staring at it and the abandoned rags. His pistol rest heavy on his lap, and he rolled a single bullet thoughtfully between his finger and thumb.

_Right, Jimmy?_


	17. Chapter 17

Three days had passed since Jimmy had so much as seen, let alone spoken, to Ben. So when Captain Weaver selected the two for a scouting mission up to the next town, in search of a new location to move camp, Jimmy felt a little apprehensive, if not altogether scared shit-less, at the prospect. The trip would take a few days and a small group – no crowd to get lost in.

“Ben can get in places others can't,” Captain Weaver had explained, “And it seems you're one of the few he trusts to watch his back. As a matter of point, he specifically asked for you to come along.”

Captain Weaver assured Jimmy that the two boys wouldn't be alone. Hal and Maggie would be accompanying them and Jimmy couldn't shake the image of the two older teens as chaperones.

They left early afternoon, taking two bikes, Hal and Ben on one, Maggie and Jimmy on the other. They had rifles each, stacks of ammo, a few rolls of explosives, sleeping bags, flashlights, a map, some extra fuel though they had enough in the tanks to get them the distance they needed and back, and provisions to last them those few days.

For the first several hours they traveled nonstop, and Jimmy could relax. He didn't have to face Ben just yet. When it got too dark, they found an abandoned gas station to stay for the night, breaking in through the front window. Most of the place had been picked clean of anything useful: food, drinks, medicine, hygiene and feminine products, batteries, even the security equipment and the building's electrical wiring had been stripped clean. Just about the only thing that hadn't been touched was the till box.

They shifted the shelves around to create a barricade and set up their sleeping bags in the back. They ate some of their food; jerky and dried fruits. Hal and Maggie spent several minutes going over the map, plotting their morning route. Ben watched out the store front. Jimmy checked on their artillery, making sure the guns were fully loaded and re-securing the C4 bundles.

They took the night watch in shifts. Maggie first, then Hal – the drivers would need to be the most rested for the trip in the morning, Ben went third but it seemed he didn't intend to wake Jimmy for the last shift. 

Roughly half-an-hour after Ben was supposed to switch, Jimmy grew restless waiting. He sighed and sat up, scanning the darkness for the other boy and spotting his silhouette at the store front, sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out, the other propped up balancing his rifle on the knee. Jimmy crept around Hal and Maggie's sleeping forms, and hurried to join Ben. He stood over the other boy with arms folded across his chest.

“Did you fall asleep or something?” Jimmy whispered demand. Ben didn't stir, his gaze fixated out the store window.

“I can watch the rest of the night. Go back to bed,” Ben replied.

Jimmy snorted softly. He took a seat on the floor across from Ben, folding his legs Indian-style and leaned back against one of the shelf-barricades. Ben glanced at him curiously.

“I'm fine, Jimmy. Go to bed,” Ben said, eyes back to staring out the window.

“It's my shift. You go to bed,” Jimmy retorted.

Ben shook his head, moving his gun up to rest the barrel against his shoulder and replacing it with his arm across his knee. There was a cold spot in Jimmy's chest, a lump of ice ever expanding. He hated Ben for a moment, sitting there so calm and perfect, unable to even bring his eyes to look at the other boy that was sitting there fighting for what rightfully belonged to him.

“I don't need as much sleep as you,” Ben quietly reasoned. Jimmy's right hand balled into a fist. He narrowed his eyes on the other boy, twin blue lasers burning a hole into Ben's cheek, chin, nose.

“You still need sleep-”

“And I've had enough,” Ben interrupted. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together a moment, he said, “And you haven't.”

Something deep inside of Jimmy snapped at that.

“Just because the Skitters turned you into some inhuman freak doesn't mean you can steal my shift and tell me what to do,” Jimmy hissed. 

Ben flicked his eyes on Jimmy, a shadow cast over his intense expression, exaggerating the curve of his face.

“Yeah. I am a freak,” Ben bit out evenly, a sharp edge to his tone, “And the fact I'll be relying on you tomorrow to keep me alive means I can tell you to do whatever the hell I want, like get some sleep when you look like the walking dead. Now stop being a stubborn ass and go back to bed.”

Ben turned his attention back out the window. Jimmy gaped at Ben, speechless and slightly mortified – though he'd never admit it. 

Then, as the words sunk in, Jimmy slumped forward, defeated, burying his face in a palm. The air felt sharp and jagged all around, it pricked his skin, and cut its way down his throat and nasal passage. His head throbbed, seizing into itself.

“I can't sleep,” he mumbled.

Ben glanced at him briefly, “What?”

“I can't sleep,” Jimmy repeated, somewhat louder. He straightened and, sort of, pouted pathetically Ben's direction. Ben turned his attention back to Jimmy, brow stitched together, his mouth softened at the edges.

“Why?”

 _Because ghosts are haunting me_ , Jimmy inwardly mused, _because you're haunting me._

He shrugged, aloud replied, “I don't know.”

Seconds ticked off in Jimmy's mind like the rhythmic beat of a rigged bomb. In that passage of time, an understanding passed between Ben and Jimmy, an understanding that became caught up in a tidal wave of tortured and tender emotions. 

Then Ben closed the distance between them, sliding across the floor to sit at Jimmy's side. Jimmy pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms round them and resting his forehead atop. Ben put an arm around Jimmy's shoulders, his steady gaze returned to the window.

Jimmy knew he should protest the close proximity, after everything that had happened over those past few days. With the mission they were undertaking, he really didn't need anymore weirdness, but the familiar feel of Ben beside him, the permeating warmth and soothing scent, were too overwhelming for him to find the strength to muster an argument. He relaxed; every muscle in his body that had been held in a constant state of tension finally unraveled and loosened. His head floated, light and feathery, in a faraway and beautiful place.

“I was beginning to think you were never going to talk to me again,” Ben murmured.

“Big concern?” Jimmy questioned, his words meshing together from fatigue.

Ben didn't say anything. Jimmy lifted his head up to take a peek at the other boy. Ben’s eyes were distant, melancholy. A soft smile played on his lips. Jimmy could hear his own heart splintering to look at that expression. He lay his head back down and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“I could never _never_ talk to you, Ben,” Jimmy promised, and then added wistfully, “After all, someone has to tell you when you're being a creepy freak.”

Ben snickered lightly at that, his hand sliding across Jimmy's shoulders to the back of his neck and giving a gentle shake.

“Good,” Ben conceded, and his broad grin could be heard clearly in his voice.


	18. Chapter 18

The explosion rumbled inside of Jimmy's chest. He threw himself to the ground, shrapnel crashing and rocketing all around, laying there for only a second and then pulled himself to his feet once more, running at a breakneck pace. Crumbling buildings, crushed and twisted vehicles and chunks of metal, piles of shattered concrete blurred by in a gray-black haze. He rounded a corner, sprinted down the street. 

A hard body tackled him, knocked the air clean out of his lung, gripped his vest, and dragged him down behind an overturned cream-colored Ford sedan. Jimmy’s back was pinned against the car's cool fiberglass body; a familiar hand clasped his mouth, soft brown eyes burned intently into his own shimmering blue.

The hand fell away.

“Hal and Maggie...?” Jimmy began. 

Ben shook his head, a warning to stay quiet, not safe yet. He glanced around the car and pulled back hastily, squeezed his eyes shut tight. Jimmy took a deep, shaky breath. The battle cry of a mech sang out on the wind. The last of their C4 lay in a rubble pile down the street and around the corner. The mech's mechanical footsteps crunched their direction.

Ben motioned to a narrow alleyway. Held up three fingers and plucked up a rock from the ground. Jimmy nodded understanding.

One.

They spread themselves out a bit, gave one another room for the sprint. 

Two.

Jimmy secured his gun and pack. Ben tightened his grip on the rock a moment, loosened it. They exchanged a look.

Three.

Ben tossed the rock one direction; the boys took off the other. The sound of rapid gunfire not being aimed at them was a good confirmation that, at least so far, their plan had worked. 

They cut into the alley, raced to its end. Ben leapt over the chain-linked fence blocking their path in three strides. Jimmy took a little longer, tossing his pack and rifle over to his anxiously awaiting friend. He dropped to the ground and saw the mech down the alley attempting to break a path through the red brick walls.

Together they raced until they found an open door and slammed inside, greeted by darkness. Jimmy fumbled in his pack for his mini Maglite, and its tiny beam lit up a dank, concrete corridor.

“Where are we?” Jimmy asked, between spastic coughs and gasps for air.

“Movie theater service entrance,” Ben answered.

Ben took the lead, pushing forward. Jimmy moved to follow, only to reel back, gasping as a shock of pain ripped through his side. His flashlight clattered to the ground, he gripped the area, face contorting in pain, a wave of nausea hitting him so hard he gagged on the stomach acids climbing his throat. Ben was beside Jimmy in an instant, flashlight snatched off the ground and in hand.

“Let me see,” Ben commanded, prying Jimmy's hand away and repositioning the light. 

On Jimmy's left side, near the naval, blood had soaked through his shirt and into his vest. Jimmy leaned back against the door. Carefully, hand trembling, Ben peeled the fabric up and away to reveal a gash in Jimmy's flesh roughly five inches in length. Poking out of the center was a slender chunk of glass.

Ben glanced away, putting the back of his hand against his mouth and grimacing. Fighting his own sudden sickness. He blinked a few times, choked back the revolt, and turned his attention again to the injury.

“It doesn't look too deep,” Ben said, “Maybe quarter of an inch at most. I have to pull it out, Jimmy.”

Jimmy shook his head, biting his bottom lip, eyes shimmering with fear, and a couple tears slid down his cheeks.

“I have to,” Ben pleaded, “If we leave it in there, it'll make it worse. You can't move like that!”

“Shit,” Jimmy moaned, he hissed, sucked in a deep breath and whimpered, “Fine. Do it.”

“Where's your pack?” Ben asked.

Jimmy handed the ragged bag over. Ben put the rifle aside and dug around in Jimmy's pack for the small first aid kit all fighters took with them on outings. Jimmy's had a packet of Tylenol, an ace bandage, and some alcohol in a tiny bottle. He pulled the items out as Jimmy took off his vest and shirt. Ben handed Jimmy the flashlight, he glanced meaningfully at the removed shirt.

“Bite it,” he recommended.

Jimmy took a deep breath, closed his eyes and put the cloth in his mouth. Ben braced Jimmy against the door, his forearm across his chest. He dumped a bit of the alcohol on the injury, got a firm grip on the glass shard and slowly, steadily pulled it out. 

Jimmy screamed bloody-murder into the shirt, tasting the cotton fibers, and all the dirt, grime, sweat that had soaked into them, in his teeth. His right hand gripped Ben's shoulder, his other wrapped round the forearm holding him in place. His fingernails bit through fabric and flesh.

Seconds that felt like eternities later, the glass shard – not quite a half inch wide– dropped to the ground. Blood bubbled quickly to the surface of the injury. Ben splashed more alcohol on it. He used a somewhat clean rag from the bag, drenched with the rest of the alcohol, to press against the injury as Jimmy unsteadily wrapped the Ace bandage around himself, then Ben took over, finishing wrapping and tying off the bandage.

Jimmy slid to the floor, holding his head up with a blood drenched hand. Ben shuddered, sniffled, and dropped to his knees in front of Jimmy.

“Hal and Maggie?” Jimmy asked again.

“I don't know,” Ben answered earnestly, “They were heading up Main Street towards Fourth and G, the rendezvous point, last I saw. After you took out that Skitter on me...nice shot, by the way-”

“Thanks.”

“Then I heard the mech heading your direction and just started running. That's when I lost track of them,” Ben concluded. He plopped fully onto the ground and Jimmy glanced at him. Ben's eyes were locked on the bandaged wound at Jimmy's side. 

Jimmy closed his eyes.

“Want to kiss it better?” he absently joked.

“Yes,” Ben replied, soft and earnest.

Jimmy's eyes shot open, his heart slammed head first against his ribcage. He suddenly found he needed air; it seemed it was in short supply. Ben still stared intently at the injury. His brow was slightly furrowed, his mouth a thin, rigid line. Ben's words, every last one Jimmy ever heard spoken, cascaded down on Jimmy all at once, reverberating throughout his mind.

_I like you, Jimmy._

And suddenly, everything that was Ben came rushing to Jimmy. His cocky smile. His haunted, faraway stare. The slope of his brow to his nose and into the cut of his jawline. His smell of citrus and pine. The feel of his hand, of his fingers. The weight of his body, the warmth of his presence. The feel of his back and those horrible metal rods that jutted out along his spine. The taste of his mouth, bittersweet.

_You just sounded like someone I could have been friends with._

Now was really not the time for this. There were so many other things more pressing, much higher priority.

“Then why don't you?” Jimmy murmured.

_You know, before._

Ben rose his eyes to meet Jimmy's. Those cool blue orbs gazed out somberly, expectant, with a hint of challenge behind them. And there was that look, it shot through Jimmy like a bullet, burning a path of beautiful destruction beneath his skin. Ben the hungry predator, Jimmy his trapped prey.

Jimmy straightened his back against the door, pressing his palms flat against the cement floor to hold himself upright. Ben started forward, crawling himself towards Jimmy, inch by excruciating inch. They held each others eyes, each daring the other to go through with it, each daring the other to back down. Ben held himself up with his hand on the door beside Jimmy's head, he placed his other hand on Jimmy's knee, leaning forward, close enough Jimmy could feel Ben's breath on his face. His eyes slipped shut; he waited for that delicate touch.

It never came. 

Jimmy flinched involuntarily, his heart constricting. He opened his eyes again. Ben had stopped and pulled back slightly. His head was cocked to one side, straining to listen to something too far for Jimmy's ears to hear. Jimmy stumbled hard back in to reality.

The mech, it had found them. Or the Skitters. Or both. They had no C4, they couldn't take down a mech with bullets alone, at least not with the bullets they were packing. They only had the one gun, anyhow. Ben had lost his, Jimmy wasn't sure when or where. There hadn't been time to ask. If Skitters swarmed, more than three or four, they would be dead before they had the chance to line one up in the sight.

“It's them,” Ben whispered, sighing. He looked back to Jimmy with a crooked smile, “Hal and Maggie. They're in the theater. It doesn't sound like they were followed.”

Ben stood easily. Jimmy unfurled his bloody shirt and carefully pulled it on. Ben offered Jimmy his hand, Jimmy accepted, and Ben dragged him upright. Then Ben gathered the pack, and Jimmy shouldered his rifle, heading down the corridor towards the theater.

“Hey, Jimmy, wait a sec,” Ben called.

Jimmy slowed, managing to turn halfway, when Ben's mouth crashed against his own, lingered there momentarily, and pulled away. Short. Sweet. Sheepishly ducking his head, Ben tried to maneuver passed, but Jimmy halted him, a hand gripping the front of Ben's shirt and holding him in place.

Jimmy stared dazed at Ben's collar. A heartbeat passed, two, three. He stepped forward, placing his mouth against Ben's and waiting there for response. Another heartbeat, and Ben replied, easing into the kiss. Everything was almost exactly as Jimmy remembered. There was the gentle, there was the rough. Here was the parting of the lips, and now, the taste. Then there was a change as Ben's tongue started in and...

There came a scraping noise from the door at the end of the corridor and the boys broke hastily apart. The door burst open, the boys were both breathless, flushed, and eyes staring wide at the two figures standing in the door frame, guns poised to shoot. Hal stepped forward and gave the two a glance over.

“We've been looking everywhere for you both,” he informed them, “There are Skitters everywhere.”

“No shit,” Ben muttered, agitated. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, cheeks deeply colored with heat. Jimmy folded his arms over his chest and tried not to appear too bothered, he slid a hand down to cover the bandaged wound in his side, his shirt still damp with blood. Hal's brow drew together and he eyed them both suspiciously.

“Did something happen?” he asked.

“No,” Ben and Jimmy both said, too rapidly for it to be believable. Hal and Maggie exchanged a skeptical look.

“Jimmy was impaled,” Ben quickly covered.

“What?” Hal's eyes widened in alarm. Maggie perked a brow.

“I was not,” Jimmy argued.

“With a huge piece of glass,” Ben added.

“It wasn't that huge!” Jimmy protested.

Maggie covered a smile. Hal rolled his eyes.

“It was pretty big. I had to pull it out. There was blood gushing everywhere,” Ben went on.

“Will you stop that,” Jimmy groaned.

“He was about to die,” Ben insisted.

“I wasn't about to - “ Jimmy shook his head and explained to Hal and Maggie, “I was _not_ about to die.”

“I pretty much saved your life,” Ben insisted, grinning broadly at the other boy, “I think that means I own you now.”

Jimmy shot an exasperated look to Ben, his head completely drained of blood. Maggie snorted, and turned away to cover her small chuckle. Hal shook his head in annoyance.

“Alright, you two,” he chastised, “We have to get out of here. We're not exactly out of any danger yet,” he paused, looked between Ben and Jimmy, then shook his head and smiled, “You guys can discuss the terms of Jimmy's indentured servitude back at camp.”

“Oh, we definitely will,” Ben agreed, smirking proudly at Jimmy.

“You're such an ass,” Jimmy readily informed him.


	19. Chapter 19

Getting out of town didn't prove too difficult with just the four of them. Tricky, but not difficult. Not to mention, the use of Ben's superhuman abilities came in handy. They'd left the bikes a couple yards out of town, covered by debris in the woods off the highway. Maggie and Hal retrieved them while Jimmy and Ben kept watch. 

It was a couple hours into the drive home before Jimmy started to feel sick. Eventually, he had to force Maggie to pull over, stumbling into the high grass on the side of the interstate and puking up the few contents of his stomach. His body shook convulsively and it was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Jimmy, you okay?” Maggie asked when Jimmy returned, she put a cool hand to his forehead to check his temperature, “You're burning up.”

“I'm fine,” Jimmy insisted, he sounded anything but, “Let's keep moving.”

They gave Jimmy some water and continued driving for several more minutes. When his arms went lax round Maggie's waist she pulled over again and shook Jimmy awake.

“Sorry,” he murmured, gazing groggily up at the three worry-lined faces staring down at him, “I don't know what happened.”

Afraid Jimmy might black out again and fall off the back of the bike, Hal decided to switch things up, Ben with Maggie and Jimmy with him. They secured Jimmy in place, tying his hands together around Hal, but they didn't get much farther, maybe an hour more, before being forced to stop when Jimmy's breathing became erratic and he couldn't contain his tortured moans. They found a convenience-store-slash-gift-shop off a small dirt path along the interstate and decided to rest there.

“His wound is infected,” Maggie determined, having peeled away Jimmy's bandage a bit to investigate, “And it's still bleeding. A lot.”

Jimmy now lay drifting between consciousness and feverish sleep in the back of the store sprawled out on a sleeping bag. Hal, Ben, and Maggie huddled in the front around the counter discussing the issue.

“I put some antiseptic on it, wrapped it up again,” Maggie continued, “But we can't keep moving him like this.”

“And we can't wait here for too long, either, we're losing daylight,” Hal replied, glancing sidelong at the younger boy moaning in the back of the store, “We're due back at camp tomorrow afternoon.”

Jimmy whimpered, gasped, struggled in the sleeping bag. Ben squirmed where he sat on the counter, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and watching the other boy steadily.

“Is he going to be okay?” Ben demanded, “I mean if we kept moving, would he be okay?”

“We need to close that wound,” Maggie said.

Hal paced back and forth once, stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed and unfocused.

“We could cauterize it,” he suggested.

“You want to burn him,” Ben cried, disgusted at the very thought of intentionally causing Jimmy anymore unbearable pain, “No way, Hal. There's got to be something else.”

“We don't have the materials to stitch it closed and we can't leave it open like that any longer,” Maggie reasoned, “Cauterizing's the only way. It'll leave a nasty scar.”

“But it'll probably save his life,” Hal returned.

Ben didn't look convinced, but the two elders had made their decision. 

Hal gently stirred Jimmy to wakefulness, cupping the younger boy's face in his hands. Ben stood behind Hal's shoulder, body tense and arms wrapped around himself, clearly distraught. He wouldn't look at Jimmy.

“Hey, Jimmy, can you hear me?” Hal questioned. 

Jimmy attempted to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He nodded vaguely.

“We have to close your wound, alright? We're going to try cauterizing it,” Hal continued to say, “Do you know what that means?”

Jimmy shook his head, no, he'd never heard of such a thing. Out the corner of his eye he glanced Maggie nearby. She'd found a small, metal container, it looked like a skillet of some kind, and had started a fire inside of it. She had her long blade out and kept rhythmically running it through the flame. Ben closed his eyes, tears that never quite formed lined the edges, and he brought his fist up to rest against his mouth.

“We're going to apply extreme heat to the area to seal the skin closed,” Hal explained, “It's going to hurt a lot,” Ben shook his head angrily, walked out of sight, as Hal went on to say, “But it'll stop the bleeding. We need to stop the bleeding, Jimmy.”

Jimmy nodded his head, mouthed the word 'okay', he understood.

They pulled the shirt up to Jimmy's chin, removed the bandages, a glob of blood spilled out of the surface and slithered down his side. Hal put a rag in Jimmy's mouth for him to bite on, took position to hold Jimmy's legs down. Ben knelt at Jimmy’s shoulder, briefly placed his hand on Jimmy's forehead, it felt like a block of ice against the fevered heat burning through Jimmy. Ben would be holding Jimmy's shoulders down. Maggie appeared with the knife, its core a fiery red. Her cheeks were splotched white, her mouth pressed into a tight frown. She met Ben's eyes.

“I'll try not to burn anymore skin than I have to,” she promised him. 

Ben scowled at the blade.

“Just get it done quickly,” he replied, sounding bitter.

Maggie nodded, took a deep breath, and lay the blade against Jimmy's skin.

It didn't hurt a lot. To say that it did implied that anything, such as pain, could register through the searing white hot that licked through Jimmy's body and mind. He bucked and kicked against the three others, instinctively fighting them despite all conscious desire to let Maggie do her work. 

Hal practically leaned his entire body over Jimmy's lower half to hold him in place. 

Ben had one arm, like a braided industrial cord, wound around Jimmy holding his arms to his chest so he didn't thrash them violently. Ben's other arm cradled Jimmy's head to him, as though an attempt to soothe the other boy.

Eventually, the shock proved too much, and Jimmy lost consciousness, slipping into a swirling sea of black, white forms dancing, flickering in and out of sight of his mind's eye.

_Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb...Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow..._

“...Jimmy...?”

_Jimmy._

“Jimmy...”

_Jimmy had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb...Jimmy had a little lamb, her fleece was white as snow..._

“Mnng...shut up, Cass...”

“Jimmy, wake up.”

_And everywhere that Jimmy went, Jimmy went, Jimmy went, everywhere that Jimmy went, the lamb was sure to go..._

“Shut it...stop singing...”

“Jimmy?” Tiny dots of cold sprinkled his forehead. He swallowed dry air, coughed, shuddered violently. His eyes opened to little slits, squeezed closed again, then parted just enough to take in light. 

Maggie sat over Jimmy, stroking the hair out of his face – it was damp and clinging to his skin with sweat. Her eyes were soft, studying his features, her mouth a small, pouted frown.

“You with us, Jimmy?” she whispered.

He sought the words to cull her worries.

“...water...” he croaked, the sound as painful as the word felt clawing from his throat.

Maggie nodded understanding. She reached for something, the canteen. She lifted his head, pressed the canteen opening to his mouth and tilted it back to let the warm liquid inside spill down his throat. He took a few small gulps, the taste was bliss.

“Not too much,” she warned, taking the canteen away. She fumbled for something, her clothes rustling, and held her hand up to Jimmy's mouth, “Here,” she said, popping two tiny beads past his lips, “Take these.” He swallowed them down and she gave him more water, then set his head back down.

Jimmy glanced around to get his bearings straight. Ben sat beside him on the left, leaning against a knee and staring silently at Jimmy. He held Jimmy's hand, which surprised Jimmy; he hadn't noticed the tight clasp. Hal was nowhere in sight. Jimmy's shirt was still pulled up; a damp rag lay over his stomach, covering the injury. 

Maggie ran her hand over Jimmy's forehead one more time, then stood and walked towards the store front, leaving the two boys alone.

When her footsteps had faded, Ben spoke.

“You were only out a few minute,” he answered the question Jimmy hadn't even thought to ask, “Hal found a storage room in the back that looks like it may not have been opened after...well, there's stuff still inside. He's looking for clean bandages. We'll re-bandage the wound, wait an hour to see if your fever goes down, then get moving again.”

Jimmy nodded. His eyes slipped closed. He frowned.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't be,” Ben said. He gave Jimmy's hand a squeeze. “Maggie did a good job, it doesn't even look that bad. It might not even scar.”

“Liar,” Jimmy muttered.

“Yeah,” Ben agreed, he shifted himself into a more comfortable position, leaning over Jimmy, his mere presence a comfort, “The smell was awful.”

Jimmy nodded. He hadn't even realized the smell. The stench of burning flesh always lingered in his nose. Ever since that first time he'd encountered it, what seemed an eternity ago. Ben brushed a kiss across Jimmy's parted lips. It sent a shiver through Jimmy's body. He said nothing, lying very still and concentrating on breathing.

“Jimmy?” Ben whispered.

“Hm...?”

“Can I ask you...who's Cass?”

Jimmy's face distorted a moment. A small noise escaped his throat. “No.”

Ben dropped another kiss to Jimmy's mouth, and with it somberly murmured, “Okay.”


	20. Chapter 20

Captain Weaver was disappointed with the news Hal's scouting party returned with, they needed to search out another direction for the 2nd Mass's new camp location. They would be running low on supplies soon and needed more options. Most of the residences, stores and warehouses in the area within a fifty mile radius were already picked clean by looters. 

Dr. Anne Glass praised Maggie and Hal's decision when it came to Jimmy. 

“It was the right call,” she said, “If you'd waited for stitches, he might not have made it back to camp.”

Jimmy spent the next several nights in the medical van under Dr. Glass's careful watch. His fever progressed over the first couple days. It spiked on the second day at 103.5 and Dr. Glass contemplated an ice bath, but where the fuck would she get the ice, then it broke on the fourth. In the meantime, Ben was assigned patrols with a young girl named Valerie. Jimmy fretted about it.

“She's a very skilled shot,” Dr. Glass promised Jimmy, but he didn't feel assured. 

The idea that Ben was out there, patrolling, with someone that wasn't him, Jimmy couldn't explain it, but it turned his stomach inside out.

On the fifth day, Dr. Glass released Jimmy from observation. His vitals were normal. His fever was gone. He still felt groggy and weak, but Dr. Glass told him that the feeling would fade after he spent some time outside, getting fresh air and exercise, but to check back in with her in a few days.

Despite the all clear from Dr. Glass, Captain Weaver wasn't eager to put Jimmy back on patrols or anything. He suggested a short leave from duty, nothing too long, just another week of resting.

“But why?” Jimmy argued, feeling like a child being sent to bed without dessert. Another week. His heart was fit to burst. That was another week of lying around camp uselessly. Another week of Ben out there with that Valerie girl.

“I want you at 100% before I put you back out there,” Captain Weaver explained, and dismissed Jimmy with a sharp command.

There was a note at the cabin for Jimmy: Ranger station. Thirteen hundred.

Ben was already at the station when Jimmy arrived, shooting at tin cans lined up about thirty meters away. He grazed one, clipped the top of the next, and missed the third entirely.

“Those tin cans must not be posing much threat to your Playstation,” Jimmy called jokingly. 

Ben lowered the weapon and glanced over his shoulder to see his approaching friend. Jimmy faltered, for a moment, a shadow lingered in Ben's eyes, a dark haze that hinted a brewing storm. Ben looked away, put the rifle down.

“We have to talk, Jimmy.”

Jimmy's heart stopped, then kicked into full throttle. Thoughts overwhelmed him, a mountain of 'what ifs' galvanized to life. Ben changed his mind about Jimmy, he learned something, found something out, saw the dark things swarming inside Jimmy and was repulsed by them, realized in the week apart, in the week with Valerie, that there were other people in the world, other people that were kinder, gentler, easier to deal with, easier to be around.

“And I mean really talk,” Ben pressed, turning round to face the other boy now, his expression light now, but stern, “Without yelling, attacking, no arguing, and none of your guarded bullshit attitude either.”

“Bullshit attitude,” Jimmy scoffed complaint, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, that one, right there,” Ben exclaimed, jabbing a finger Jimmy's direction, “I mean, if we're going to do this...”

Jimmy's eyes darted up at that, wide and alarmed, his jaw unhinged. Ben's mouth snapped shut, his teeth clattering against one another. They both stared, neither wanting to be the first to speak, to acknowledge the first verbal verification that anything had actually happened – was actually happening – between them.

“Do...what?” Jimmy asked, feeling like he was speaking around a large cluster of cotton balls.

“I...” Ben tipped his chin down, studying the ground, eyes moving back and forth, “I don't know what.” He met Jimmy's gaze again, brown searching, imploring blue, “I know we're doing something. I don't know what it is, I don't know what it means...but it's something...something...that I know I want.”

Jimmy nudged the muddy ground with the toe of his boot. He watched a line of ants race from somewhere into the abandoned ranger station door and back into the farther reaches of the woods.

“Oh,” he mouthed, “That.”

“Yeah. That,” Ben snapped. He shook his head, grumbled, “I've been thinking so much about it this past week, my head hurts. And then on top of that I was patrolling with this girl, Valerie...”

Here it comes, Jimmy braced himself, the discussion about his replacement.

“And I realized something out there with her,” Ben continued.

Jimmy chewed his inner cheek furiously, grateful of the metallic taste that filled his mouth when his teeth tore the gum. Ben took a few steps towards Jimmy, paused, put his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky.

“She told me a lot of things about herself on patrol,” Ben began, casually, as though they were having a whole new conversation, “Her dad and her little brother survived the attack together. She had an older sister, went away to college in California...UCLA...they haven't heard from her, don't know if she's alive or dead, but her dad doesn't have much hope. Her mother died when she was twelve, car accident. She learned how to shoot on hunting trips with her dad. She and her brother are both really good shots, but their dad doesn't want them to be fighters. He only lets her patrol sometimes when he's sure she won't run into anything at night, but she really wants to be a fighter, they fight about it a lot.”

Jimmy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, losing the tension in his shoulders, and scrunching his face up in confusion. Why was Ben telling him all of this and would he be getting to a point soon?

“She wanted to be a fashion designer before, used to sketch clothes all the time. She still does, when she's bored. She had two best friends in school, Pam and Tracy. Pam died, her whole family died, in the first attacks. Tracy is harnessed, Valerie knows it for certain. Because she's seen her. She thinks we might be able to get Tracy back, like me.

“She's afraid of me. She tells me all the time, that there's something not right about the way I look at people. She says it’s not my fault though, and she feels bad for thinking it. Every time she says 'Skitter', she gets really quiet and looks at me with these pitying eyes and says 'I'm so sorry', it drives me up the wall.”

Ben sighed, shook his head and smirked, somewhat fondly and Jimmy hated the way that memory made Ben react, it caused his stomach to lurch.

“Her favorite color is teal. She always wanted a rabbit; she used to collect stuffed rabbits. Her whole room was filled with them. It's the thing she misses most about home, the one thing she wishes she could have back, or at the very least just one of them. Oh, she also misses Uncle Chow's Chinese Take-Out, they had the best Lo Mein, the drive-in theater behind her house even though it only showed movies made in the eighties, and her favorite clothing boutique, Hannah's Hand-Me-Downs.”

Ben finished with a quirk of his brow, looking almost expectantly at Jimmy.

“So...” Jimmy started slowly, “She never shuts up?”

Ben pursed his lips, fighting the smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. He shook his head, angry again.

“In one week I've learned more about her than the total number of words I've been able to get out of you about yourself in the entire time we've been patrolling together,” Ben concluded.

“That's what this is about?” Jimmy demanded, irritated. This conversation was way too stupid for words, “You want to know things about me? Well, okay. I don't have a favorite color but I too really miss my rabbit collection. A lot.”

“No,” Ben growled then shaking his head, “I mean, yes, I do want to know things about you but that's not what this is about. It's that...she talks to me.”

“I talk to you. I'm talking to you right now.”

“No, you don't. You make sarcastic comments, snappy insults, lash out in anger, and every now and then, you might actually say something but then you take it back too fast I can't tell,” Ben ranted, “She's scared of me and she's told me her life story, her hopes, her dreams, her innermost fears.”

“Well if that's what you want, then maybe you should make her your permanent partner on patrols,” Jimmy bit out.

“That's not what I want,” Ben cried, he threw his hands up in disgust, “I said no arguing!”

“You started it!”

“Stop that. Don't you get it, Jimmy? I care about you,” Ben roared, and the emotion slammed into Jimmy, burning a hole clear through his chest, “I care about you so much I couldn't even make the choice that would save your life because it was the one that would cause you an intensely excruciating amount of pain and I can't handle that. Fuck!”

Ben spun around and buried his face in a hand, flustered and frustrated all at once. Jimmy wet his lips with a quick dart of his tongue, bunched up his shoulders, and ducked his chin down. A cool breeze ruffled his hair. Somewhere in the forest, a bird broke out in merry song.

“I know you've got things you don't want to talk about. We've all got things we don't want to talk about,” Ben finally spoke again. He sounded so distant, as though he were whispering across the ocean to Jimmy standing on a foreign shore, “But sometimes I get the feeling that you do have things that you want to talk about, you just shut it all up as soon as you get close to letting any of it out. You just hold it inside and...and it's ripping you apart...and I hate it.”

The ranger station had been abandoned long before the aliens ever invaded. It was evident in the structure's design, the lack of brass hinges, and the warping of the wood. Overgrowth around the building was far too thick to be attributed to six months or even a year of desertion. 

Ben's breathing was shallow and heavy. He sounded winded, as though he'd run a mile in a minute. 

Jimmy felt lost. His eyes were seeing the world around him, but none of it looked familiar; the ranger station, the trees, the overturned crate, the rocks, the flowers, the muddy ground, the boy in front of him, they were all alien to him.

“I don't want to burden you with my past,” Jimmy admitted stiffly. His voice was steadier than he felt it should be.

“Even though I'm asking you to?” Ben challenged, turning slightly to eye Jimmy, brown orbs cast with shadows.

“ _Especially_ because you're asking me to,” Jimmy returned.

They stared at one another, finding themselves at an impasse. They both wanted the same thing. They both needed the same thing. They both had vastly different ideas how to achieve it. Ben lowered his eyes first. Jimmy blinked away tears he wished hadn't formed.

“Is this your noble sacrifice?” Ben scoffed. 

Jimmy smirked sardonic, “More like my punishment.”

“Should I even bother asking?”

“Nope.”

They shared a sad smile. Ben turned back towards Jimmy, walking towards him until they were only an arm's length apart.

“It's just...when you say things like that, when I see you hurting, I want to be able to help,” Ben sheepishly confessed.

“You do,” Jimmy admitted. He rubbed his face and sighed, saying, “In a weird way, you do.”

“Really?” Ben snorted softly, disbelieving.

“Yeah, really,” Jimmy repeated grumpily. Was that so difficult to understand? That just by being there, just by merely existing, Ben made a difference?

Silence settled between them. They both reflected on the conversation, sorted through the emotions, the anger and frustration, the disappointment and insecurities, it brought out.

Finally, Jimmy asked, “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, that...and the other thing,” Ben shrugged.

“Other thing?” Jimmy repeated numbly, peeking timidly at the other boy. There were only so many 'other things'.

“Yeah,” Ben took another step forward, “The...uh...” He touched his lips to Jimmy's for a wonderfully tender moment, “...thing.”

“Right. That thing,” Jimmy murmured. He made a face, “We really have to talk about that?”

“I think so,” Ben answered casually, “It seems like we should.”

“Really? Okay. So...uh...about that?” Jimmy mused awkwardly, running a hand over the back of his neck and trying to ignore the color rising to his cheeks, “It's...well, a thing...a thing…that keeps happening…”

“A... _bad_ thing?” Ben interrupted, quirking a brow.

Jimmy shrugged, “I don't...no. I don't think so. Unless you think so?”

“Yeah. No,” Ben hastily agreed, “It's just a thing.”

“Yeah. A thing,” Jimmy nodded, “Not a bad thing. Just a thing.”

“Right. So we're clear?”

“Yeah. Entirely clear.”

“Cool. Good talk.”

“Yeah.”

Another silence between them.

Jimmy took a deep breath and leaned forward to clumsily press his lips to the corner of Ben's, it was brief, almost shy, and when he began to pull away Ben moved swiftly forward and caught hold of him, dragging him in once more. Ben closed the entire space between them, pressing their bodies together, to get a better grip on Jimmy's mouth. 

There was a curiosity to this kiss that challenged the chastity of those that preceded it. It touched on a desire neither boy was yet ready to admit to but would readily indulge in if the way their mouths melded together were any indication. Ben worked their lips apart, the tip of his tongue daring to cross the threshold of Jimmy's teeth, then sheepishly jumping back out, and then dove back in a second time; just to taste, tantalize, tease.

Jimmy broke away first, gasping for breath. He put a hand on Ben's chest, pushing him back slightly. Ben furrowed his brow, confused and somewhat hurt.

“I have to say something,” Jimmy choked out between gulps of air, “About what you said...”

“Which part?” Ben questioned dismissively, leaning forward against Jimmy's restraining hand. As far as he was concerned, their talk was over.

“The caring about me part,” Jimmy snapped, as if it were Ben's fault he wasn't exactly being clear. He ran the fingers of his free hand over his lips, wiping away the saliva there, or rubbing it in, he wasn't really sure what he was doing, “I just...Icareaboutyoutoo,” he mumbled, the words tumbling so quickly and quietly out that Ben could barely understand them.

“What?”

“You _heard_ me,” Jimmy grumbled. Although it was obvious Ben hadn't, Jimmy had no intention of repeating the words. He dropped his hand from Ben's chest, “And that was it. That's all I had to say...”

Ben rolled his eyes and shook his head, grinning at the irrepressible boy in front of him.

“You're so stubborn,” he noted, a hint of peevishness in his tone as he moved in to pick up that kiss right where Jimmy had left it off.


	21. Chapter 21

Franklin drew his breath in slow and let it out steady. His eyes were narrow slits, his lips pressed together in a thin line. A bead of sweat was forming on his brow, curved with intent. Jimmy glanced bemused at the older teen, while absently flicking the safety of his gun on and off.

“Puh,” Franklin breathed out then pursed his lips, lined his fingertips up, laced them together and pointed at Maggie with both index fingers, “Pisces.”

Maggie blinked at him, her stare blank. “No.”

Franklin snapped his fingers and shook his head at her, saying, “Are you sure? You seem like a Pisces.”

Maggie turned her attention back to the stretch of road leading into the town where she, Hal, Jimmy and Ben had scouted a couple weeks prior. There were five of them staked out that day, waiting, watching, as Ben ran recon. They were trying to determine how strong the alien presence was there and if it would be possible for the 2nd Mass to punch a path way through.

“If China is gone, does their zodiac still work?” Hal wondered aloud.

“That's a really good question. I don't know, because it all has to do with stars, right? You would think it doesn't matter,” Maggie replied, mock serious.

“Pisces is astrology. _Not_ Chinese Zodiac,” Franklin interjected, annoyed. Maggie and Hal glanced at him briefly, humorously, then back to one another.

“There's more than one zodiac?” Maggie questioned, donning a ditzy tone and tilting her head to one side. Franklin blinked rapidly several times and opened his mouth to respond.

“He's taking a while,” Jimmy interrupted, his attention locked on the town, “Shouldn't he have been back by now?”

Hal glanced at the watch on his wrist and shook his head.

“There's still five more minutes ‘til check in,” he assured Jimmy, sighing and stretching. He leaned back in the bed of the pick-up truck they'd driven in.

“Of course, it might not be such a bad thing if he did run into some trouble in town,” Franklin chuckled. Three pairs of eyes turned to him, each varying in emotion from confused to downright outraged.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hal demanded. Franklin glanced at the other boy curiously, ignoring Teresa at Hal's shoulder furiously shaking her head.

“Just that it would be one less problem for the 2nd Mass to worry about,” he innocently remarked.

“And how exactly is my brother a problem?” Hal pressed, straightening considerably and readjusting himself for easy maneuvering. Jimmy subconsciously clicked the safety of his gun back into the off position. Maggie darted her eyes between the boys, seeing things getting ugly fast. Franklin shrugged, nonchalant and apparently oblivious to the danger he was talking himself into.

“Well, isn't that why the Captain sent him in there and told us to wait out here like bumps on a log? If anything happens to him, no huge loss,” Franklin persisted, then for a moment seeming to remember himself and having the decency to look slightly abashed about it, amended, “Except to you, Hal, of course. But you have to know that the 2nd Mass would be better off...”

“Without my brother,” Hal finished in scathing sarcasm, “Because he's such a huge fucking problem.”

“What Frankie is just saying,” Teresa stepped in, “Is that him and all the other harnessed children pose a threat and...”

“They're not harnessed anymore,” Hal snapped at Teresa, and she shrank back from his venomous tone, “My brother is not a problem. Captain Weaver didn't send him in to town because he's hoping Ben doesn't come back, he did it because Ben is twice the fighter you or any of us is, and don't you ever forget that.”

“Everyone knows that's only because of what the Skitters did to him, and who knows what else they could have done. The razorbacks can't be trusted and you're stupid if you think that one can just because it has the face of your brother,” Franklin argued. 

Jimmy gripped his gun tightly to himself, eyes dropping slightly as he listened to the exchange, heart racing in his chest. Franklin's words sounded insane but his voice was calm, rational. He truly believed what he was saying and Jimmy wasn't certain what frightened him more, Franklin's zealous fanaticism, or the possibility that he may be right. One glance at Hal and it was obvious the older boy was having the same dilemma.

“They may have cut the harness off but for all you know, the razorbacks are still under the aliens' control. Even now. And all it’s doing is pretending to be your brother, it's going through the motions, putting on an act, but it'll cut your throat in your sleep the minute its Skitter master gives the command,” Franklin concluded.

“That's bullshit,” Hal growled.

“Come on, Jimmy, you've spent time with the razorback and it's not your brother. Unbiased opinion, what do you think?” Franklin called, suddenly casting the spotlight on the youngest member of the group. 

Jimmy glanced frantically between all the glares and expectant stares. His throat closed, his tongue felt shriveled and dry. There was a roaring in his ears like the ocean. All he could think of was Ben's mouth hot on his own and the thought of it being an illusion created by the Skitters, his stomach churned with sickness.

“Back me up here, Jimmy,” Franklin pressed.

“Yeah, why don't you tell us what you think, Jimmy,” Hal insisted, his expression hard and unwavering. His words from weeks ago echoed in Jimmy's ears: _you're Ben's only friend..._

“You don't have to say anything, Jimmy,” Maggie whispered kindly, then to the older boys she seethed, “Will you two lay off and calm down? Or are you forgetting that the real enemy is very close right now and that we're currently on a mission to help keep the 2nd Mass alive? If, that is, either of you really are all that concerned about the safety of the 2nd Mass.”

“Um...you guys...” Teresa murmured. Everyone turned to her, but she had her eyes fixed behind them. They all spun round, fumbling for their guns, and faltering when they realized what it was Teresa was looking at.

“What's going on?” Ben asked, slowly walking towards the truck, a rifle slung over one shoulder, eyebrow perked. If he had caught any of their conversation, it wasn't evident in his features.

“Nothing,” Hal spoke up first, as they all recovered from the initial shock of Ben's arrival. Hal glanced warily at Franklin, and explained, “Political debate.”

“Government collapsed, there's not much to debate,” Ben pointed out, dropping his rifle in the truck bed and climbing in after it. He took a seat next to Jimmy. “I got what we needed. The town was mostly empty, I think the Skitters were just passing through the other day. But I got some pictures of the area, should come in handy if we do move through as planned. We should head back to camp now.”

Hal and Maggie went around to climb into the front carriage. Teresa and Franklin settled into the truck bed across from Ben and Jimmy, whispering low amongst themselves and sending dark looks Ben's direction every so often. 

Jimmy was frozen in place. His fingers fidgeted with his gun safety again and he stared intently as the tiny lock switch shot back and forth. He could sense Ben next to him, but there was a distance between them. Their shoulders weren't touching the way they normally did when seated in that position and, though it was a small almost pointless detail, it stung in Jimmy's chest almost as if Ben had taken a knife and drove it through him.

They stopped for the night in an empty diner. The building had an independent generator, which meant electricity, which meant heat. Summer was coming to a rapid close, and the nights had been growing increasingly colder. That night was no exception, the chilly air dipping close to thirty degrees. Adding to their good fortune, there was also running water, and while none of them would be drinking anything from the faucets, they were certainly looking forward to working toilets. It was nice to be able to relax in a temperature controlled environment and indulge in indoor plumbing for once, a luxury no one forsook those days.

They broke into groups of two, lining the tables up in front of the windows to provide a wall, and blocking all entrances except the one they chose to use, the back entry. They had decided to park their truck around back, to hide it from the open road. Then they laid out their sleeping bags in the dining area and sat down for a shared meal of trail-mix and peanut butter sandwiches.

“Captain Weaver says there's a small town about two hundred miles passed that city. According to reports, Skitter activity around that area is almost non-existent,” Hal was explaining to Maggie and Jimmy, “He seems to think it would be a good place to bolt down.”

“If we can just get _passed_ the city,” Jimmy complained.

Giggling erupted from across the dining area where Teresa and Franklin occupied a corner, whispering and laughing amongst themselves. Maggie and Hal only gave the other two teens a brief, reproving glance, then returned to their conversation but Jimmy watched them a moment. 

Franklin pushed the hair back from Teresa's ear, leaning in close and talking in a low voice. His hand was set on the small of her back, the other rest on her knee. Whatever Franklin said must have been hilarious, as Teresa burst into more laughter, playfully slapping Franklin's shoulder and delicately covering her mouth with sprawled fingertips.

“Do you think he heard?” Hal asked, and Jimmy darted his attention back to the two older teens he sat with. They were looking to the front of the dining area where Ben had taken up residency, curled up between the tables and staring ever-vigilant out one of the windows. 

Hal meant the conversation earlier, the one where Franklin basically called Ben a traitor waiting to happen. The one where Jimmy said nothing in Ben's defense. Jimmy lowered his eyes and frowned at his hands.

“He heard,” Jimmy determined with absolute certainty.

“Jimmy's right,” Maggie sighed, “If Ben can hear a mech coming from a mile away, he can certainly hear two arguing hot heads from a few _yards_ away.”

“I could strangle Frankie for saying those things,” Hal seethed, shaking his head as he spoke, “He's such an asshole.”

Jimmy balled his hands into fists, wondering internally the same thing he knew Hal and Maggie were wondering, the thing they were all too afraid to voice aloud, the thing that Jimmy hated himself so much for: _but what if that asshole is right?_

That night, they slept in shifts. Teresa first and then Maggie, Hal was third. It was during Franklin's shift that Jimmy awoke with the intense need to pee. He tip-toed groggily around the huddle of rumpled sleeping bags bulging with slumbering masses, and stumbled into the dark bathroom. The door behind him shut silently and he froze.

In the moonlit restroom, Jimmy could hear heavy breathing, gasping, grunting, a rhythmic noise similar to two ham-hocks slapping against one another. There was an unfamiliar turning in his stomach, a heat swelling in his cheeks and dropping into his lower abdomen. He frowned, edging forward in tiny, noiseless steps, peeking into each stall along the way. It was after the last stall that he found them.

Franklin had his back to Jimmy. His blue jeans and boxers were in a heap around his ankles. He held Teresa, her bare breasts smashed against the tiled wall, her face was turned away from Jimmy, her fingers were curled into the tile, as through attempting to claw their way through the mortar. Her buttocks was pressed into Franklin's front and he gyrated back and forth against it. 

At first, Jimmy could only gape, paralyzed by the image, tormented by the sounds coming from both older teens. And then the heat in his abdomen spread through his body, like an awakening, a breaking dawn. His limbs felt heavy and weak, his head swirled, light and burdensome. Blood flowed viciously through him, rushing to parts of his body he wasn't expecting and reacting in ways he had encountered before but was not yet accustomed to and didn't yet fully understand. His own breath was becoming haggard, unsteady. 

As Franklin and Teresa approached climax, Jimmy too felt himself approaching something that all at once revolted and fascinated him. He pulled away from the scene and fell into one of the stalls. 

Then the bathroom door creaked open. Jimmy froze again, wondering who else had awoken with the same urge as him and would stumble on the same awkward surprise. Franklin and Teresa remained oblivious to both the first and now second intrusion. It wasn't until the steps of the second to walk through the door grew closer that Jimmy, a drop of dread in his stomach, recognized the odd scurrying sound. He cracked open the stall in time to see the familiar creature shuffle past on six legs.

Jimmy opened his mouth to scream warning to Franklin and Teresa but the word, 'Skitter', stuck in his throat as he heard the startled cries of the two teens. They were dead, he felt it without doubt, there was no rescuing them. He hadn't heard the door open the third time and stumbled farther back into the stall surprised when Ben swiftly rushed by, knife in hand. The Skitter spun round at Ben's approach, but it wasn't fast enough to defend itself, as Ben drove the knife down its throat to the vulnerable spot in the back, and it crumpled to the ground at his feet. 

Franklin and Teresa were still alive and relatively unharmed, pressing their half-naked bodies flat against the tiled wall, staring wide-eyed in surprise at Ben. Ben briefly returned the look, then turned rapidly away, wearing an expression that was a strange combination of bashful and utter disgust. He glared at Franklin out of the corner of an eye.

“Aren't you supposed to be on watch?” Ben demanded, but must have realized they weren’t alone. He cocked his head to one side with his knife at ready.

Then Jimmy stepped into view from his place in the stall and Ben wheeled hastily around only to gape at the other boy and drop the knife to his side. All three of the teens were giving Jimmy the same bewildered look. He shrugged awkwardly, folding his arms over his chest.

“I needed to...” he gestured towards the stall, “And then I found those two...” He made a face at the memory, “Then the Skitter...and you...” He dropped his eyes to the ground and mumbled, “I'm gonna go.” He started for the bathroom exit, paused and, doubling back around into the bathroom stall, explained sheepishly, “I still have to...”

Jimmy clattered the stall door closed and fell back against it, rubbing his hands over his face. He kind of wished the Skitter had murdered them all, because the mortification he had just faced was by far the worse fate.


End file.
